ChasetheLightning (9 page)

Trey he glanced around. There were buildings on both sides
of the street, a street that, in his time, had been dusty in summer and muddy
in winter. Now, it was covered with some hard black substance. There were cars
parked up and down the street, different in shape and size and color from
Amanda’s. He noticed most of them had tops of some kind.

The sidewalks were crowded with people. He stared at a woman
who passed by clad in a bright orange dress, the hem of which was shorter than
any whore’s costume. Her hair, an outrageous shade of pink, was short and
spiky. Her shoes were the same color as her dress, but unlike anything he had
ever seen before.

He saw men in city suits, women in pants that were cut off
well above the knee, men in short pants and sleeveless shirts and tinted
glasses, women in sleeveless dresses with full skirts. A few of the men were
dressed as he was, in trousers, shirt, and boots.

As Amanda had said, none of the men wore guns, or weapons of
any kind, that he could see.

She moved up beside him. “Well, here we are. What do you
want to see first?”

He shrugged. He felt naked without his gun, lost in a town
that was familiar in some ways and totally foreign in others. He recognized the
courthouse at the end of the block. A building that had once been a brothel had
been painted white. A sign on the side of the building read, “Nelly Blue’s Bed
and Breakfast. Cable in every room.” The firehouse across from the courthouse
was still red. But the fire wagons behind its big open doors looked far too
heavy for the stoutest draft horses. A sign on one roof proclaimed “Cobb’s
Steak House”. There were hitch rails in front of some of the stores, but no
horses to be seen anywhere.

“Come on,” Amanda said.

He fell into step beside her and they walked down the
sidewalk, stopping now and then to peer into the shop windows.

One thing hadn’t changed. The Four Deuces was still a
saloon. He’d been in the place several times in the past and he stepped inside,
hoping to find something familiar. He stopped just inside the batwing doors and
glanced around. The curved mahogany bar and brass foot rail were still there,
but everything else looked different. The gaming tables were gone, replaced by
small walnut tables and long-legged chairs. The wagon wheel chandelier was
still there, but the candles were gone, replaced by electric lights. A couple
clad in jeans and cowboy shirts danced in a corner of the room.

“Do you want something to drink?”

He turned to see Amanda standing behind him.

“I’m going to get a Coke,” she said. “Do you want anything?”

“Coffee,” he said, and followed her to the bar.

They stood there a moment, sipping their drinks while they
watched the couple on the dance floor do the two-step.

The song ended, and the strains of
Amarillo
sung by
George Strait filled the air. It was one of her favorite songs.

Amanda placed her glass on the bar, then tapped Trey on the
shoulder. “Would you like to dance?”

He had never been big on dancing in the white man’s way, but
he was in favor of anything that put Amanda in his arms. Setting his coffee cup
down, he took her hand and led her onto the tiny dance floor. There was no
awkwardness between them. He held her close, his hand spread across the small
of her back. She followed his lead effortlessly and they glided around the
floor as though they had danced together for years instead of minutes.

Amanda had always loved dancing, and never more than now.
She rested her cheek against Trey’s shoulder, thinking how natural it felt to
be in his arms. He was a wonderful dancer, light on his feet. His hand was warm
and firm against her back, she felt a tingle of desire as his body brushed
against her own.

The song ended all too soon, the ballad replaced by a lively
tune by Brooks and Dunn.

“That’s beyond me,” Trey said, watching the line dancers
take the floor again.

“Shall we go?” she asked. “There’s lots to see.”

With a nod, he followed her outside. They strolled down the
sidewalk, passing several stores before Amanda tugged on his arm.

“Let’s go in here,” she said.

The sign said, “Carl’s Cowboy Corral.” Frowning, Trey
followed her into the store. The first thing he noticed was the head of a white
buffalo mounted on the wall across from the door. Shirts hung from round metal
racks. Dozens of shirts, long-sleeved and short, in checks and plaids, wool and
chambray. Levi’s hung from racks or were folded on shelves. Another rack held
dusters in black or tan, another rack held a variety of jackets: jean jackets
lined with flannel, leather jackets, sheepskin jackets.

One wall was lined with rows and rows of boots. He stared at
them in disbelief. Black and white boots that looked like the hide of a cow,
red boots, blue boots, boots with fringe, boots with stars. He shook his head.
What the hell kind of cowboy would wear boots like that?

Another wall held hats: black, tan, brown, gray, blue. Red!
Trey ran a hand through his hair. He’d lost his battered old slouch hat
somewhere along the way.

Crossing the room, he plucked a black Stetson from the shelf
and settled it on his head. It had a low crown and a braided band. He ran his
hands along the edge of the brim, curling it down a little in front.

“Looks great,” Amanda said, coming up behind him. “You
should buy it.”

“Yeah?” He quirked a brow at her, thinking of the loot that
had mysteriously disappeared from his saddlebag. “With what?”

“I’ll buy it for you. Think of it as a kind of ‘welcome to
the twenty-first century’ gift.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“What kind of man do you think I am?”

“One who doesn’t have any money.”

“Yeah, I meant to ask you about that,” he said. “Where’s the
money that was in my saddlebags?”

“Safe at home. You couldn’t spend it here anyway,” she said,
and before he could argue further, she plucked the hat from his head and
carried it to a counter in the front of the store.

Trey followed her, frowning as she handed the clerk a piece
of what looked like hard paper. “What’s that?”

“My VISA card. You can use it instead of cash.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a credit card. I charge all my purchases on it, and
then I get a bill at the end of the month.”

“Do you not use money any more?”

“Oh, yeah, for some stuff.”

The clerk handed Amanda a piece of paper and a funny looking
shiny pencil and she signed her name, then handed the paper and pencil back to
the clerk. “I’ll just put this in a bag for you,” the clerk said.

“Never mind,” Amanda said. “He’ll wear it.”

The clerk smiled. “Here you go, sir.” He handed Trey the
Stetson, gave Amanda a copy of the receipt. “Thanks for shopping at Carl’s.”

Amanda smiled at him. Tucking the receipt into her bag, she
started for the door, then stopped. “You need some new jeans, too.”

“What’s wrong with these?”

“Well, aside from the fact that they’re over a hundred years
old, and out of style, nothing at all.”

He could see she had her mind made up, so he followed her to
where the Levi’s were and rummaged though a stack, holding up one pair after
another until he found a pair that looked about right. She insisted he try them
on, and pointed him toward a tiny room at the back of the store.

Off with the old, on with the new. At first, he thought he
had the wrong size, they were so snug, but they didn’t feel too tight in the
waist. The material was different from anything he’d ever felt, and seemed to
move when he did.

“Hey,” Amanda called, tapping on the door. “Let me see.”

“I’ve been buying my own clothes for years,” he muttered,
but he opened the door and stepped out, felt a wave of heat climb up his neck
when she whistled at him. “Quit that,” he hissed.

“We’ll take those, too,” she said. “And a pair of black ones
just like them.” Before he could stop her, she had grabbed his old jeans.

“Dammit, Amanda…”

But she was already gone, headed for the counter with his
old pants and a pair of black Levi’s tucked under her arm.

Trey shook his head. She was a woman used to getting her own
way, there was no doubt about that. Going back into the room, he pulled on his
boots, then took another look at himself in the mirror. Damn jeans fit almost
like a second skin. He grinned at his image. But they looked damn good on him.

He took hold of her arm when they left the store. “How much
do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he fought of control his
temper. “I’m already beholden to you for savin’ my life. I said I’ll pay you
back, and I will. Now, how much do I owe you?”

“Well, the hat was a hundred and forty dollars…”

“A hundred and forty dollars! For a hat?” He was shocked out
of his anger momentarily. “That’s worse than robbery! That's…that’s…” Words failed
him.

"Western wear is popular these days,” she said. “And
expensive.”

How much for the jeans?”

“About seventy dollars.”

“For both?”

“No, for one pair.”

He looked totally shocked.

“I guess prices have gone up some in the last hundred
years,” she remarked.

“You can say that again,” he muttered.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I can afford it.”

“It’s not right, you payin’ my way. I’ll pay you back for
what you spent today. Even if I have to rob another bank to do it.”

He continued to brood about the outrageous prices as they
strolled down the street. So much had changed, it was hard to believe he was in
Canyon Creek. Amanda showed him video stores and music stores. They stopped at
a pet shop that had once been a boarding house and she cooed over a fluffy gray
kitten and a pot-bellied pig.

They wandered through a gift shop that carried plates and
cups, toothpick holders and shot glasses, shirts of all kinds emblazoned with
the name of the town. Row after row filled with more knickknacks than he had seen
in a lifetime.

He paused, realizing she wasn’t with him. Turning, he saw
her standing next to a pile of stuffed animals: dogs and cats, lions and
tigers, horses and cows. He had to admit they were kind of cute. Totally
useless, but cute.

He stepped back as a tall, willowy girl clad in a pair of
skin-tight red jeans and a white sleeveless shirt came down the aisle toward
him.

He tipped his hat automatically.

“Hi, cowboy,” she said in a throaty voice.

“Ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes prettily.
“Are you all alone, handsome?”

He grinned at her, flattered and amused by her attention.
“Honey, I’ve got a saddle older than you.”

She winked at him. “I’d be glad to let you break me in.”

He laughed out loud at that, wondering if all the women in
this day and age were as forward as this one.

“Having fun?”

Trey met Amanda’s inquiring gaze over the top of the girl’s
head.

Glancing over her shoulder, the girl looked Amanda up and
down. “Is he with you?”

“Yes,” Amanda said curtly.

“Well, if you ever get tired of him, let me know.”

“Yes,” Amanda replied drily. “I’ll do that. Run along now.”

The girl winked at Trey. “So long, cowboy.”

He touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger, laughed
softly as she sashayed down the aisle.

“Don’t let me keep you, if you’d rather be with her,” Amanda
said.

He didn’t miss the slight edge in her tone, couldn’t resist
asking, “You jealous?”

She tossed her head. “Of course not.”

“Well, don’t worry, sweetheart, I never change partners in
the middle of a dance,” he assured her with that now familiar roguish grin.

Amanda felt her heart catch in her throat. He was far too
handsome, his smile far too devastating. And he knew it, too. She hadn’t missed
the way women stopped to look at him as they walked down the street. He had a
long, easy stride, an aura of self-confidence that was almost palpable. He was
a man who knew who he was, a man comfortable in his own skin, her uncle would
have said. But it was his face that drew the eye of every woman past puberty.
Smooth, copper-hued skin, finely sculpted cheekbones, a strong square jaw, that
sensual lower lip that even now tempted her touch. It didn’t hurt that he
filled out those new jeans like a Hollywood model, or that his shoulders were
as broad as a barn door. And he oozed sex appeal. She grinned. Sex on a stick,
she thought, remembering her girlfriend’s apt but humorous description of
Russell Crowe in last year’s hit movie.

He was looking at her, one brow raised inquisitively.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

With a nod, he followed her out of the shop.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Do you want to get something to
eat?”

“Sure.”

She took him to her favorite restaurant, a little place that
served the best Mexican food she had ever tasted. They took a table by the
window.

The waitress wasn’t immune to Trey’s good looks, either. The
woman had to be forty if she was a day, but she simpered and smiled while she
took their order as if she had never seen a man before. Amanda couldn’t blame
her. There was something about a long-legged, good-looking man in tight-fitting
jeans and a cowboy hat.

“So, tell me,” Amanda said when they were alone. “How’d you
get into robbing banks?”

“It’s a long story. And not very interesting.”

“Tell me anyway. I’d like to hear it.”

“Some other time. You said you’re engaged. When do I get to
meet the lucky man?”

“I don’t know. He’s out of town.” She paused a moment,
savoring her next words. “He’s a bounty hunter.”

Trey stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. Professionally
speaking, of course.”