Cowboy at Midnight (8 page)

“I prefer black clingy silk and spandex.” His low voice was charged, even though she could tell he was fighting to appear indifferent.

“I returned that skirt and top to Rasa,” she whispered.

“You left one of your boots behind, Cinderella. That hers, too?”

“They were a gift from my father.”

“So, what's with the bun and the shirt buttoned tight enough to strangle you?”

“I told you I wasn't the kind of girl you thought I was.”

“I say actions speak louder than words.” He chuckled.

Each breath she drew was so swift and hot her lungs burned even as her heart ached. “Last night wasn't the real me.”

“I don't have a problem with sexy, complicated women.” Steve held out his hand to guide her down the ladder.

When his fingers grazed hers, she jumped back, her breath coming faster. “Don't touch me.”

“Easy,” he muttered, that expressionless mask stealing over his features again.

She sighed, sensing she'd hurt him again.

Good. Maybe he'd leave her alone, she thought. And yet her heart ached.

“Last time I heard, sex between consenting adults wasn't a crime. I don't think you're a bad girl, if that's what you're so worried about—despite your tattoo.”

“Don't you dare tell anybody—”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Why don't I feel reassured?”

“So you're not Sally Jones? So what?”

“I'm Amy Burke-Sinclair,” she said stiffly.

“The governor's efficient events planner,” he finished. “Tom was very complimentary about you at breakfast.”

She gasped, horrified that her two identities had merged to the point her impossible client had discussed her over breakfast with her lover.

“Nice to meet the real you.” Steve held out his hand again, this time to shake hers. “I'd like to see you again. Tonight even. If you're free.”

She blushed and shook her head. “Like I told you last night, I don't date.”

“Fine. More nights like last night won't be a hardship for me.”

“Look, I don't pick guys up either…or have hot one-night stands.”

“Then that means I was special, which means I definitely would like a repeat of last night. If we do it twice, I'll sock anybody who dares say we ever had a one-night stand.”

“I don't sleep around.”

“Hey, all I'm saying is I'd like to see you again.”

“No. We have to work together. Since I'm planning this event for Ryan, we'll have to have a business relationship. I'd appreciate it if you'd cool it and never speak to me about last night again. And please, please don't brag to Tom.”

“What? You think I'd tell any man about you and me?”

“You could ruin my reputation.”

“The last thing I want is to hurt you, Amy.”

“Then stay out of my life.”

“But we're planning an important event together.”

“If I screw up, I'll lose my job.”

“If I screw up, I'll hurt a man who's been like a second father to me. What do you say we schedule a meeting to discuss the awards banquet?”

“I'll check my calendar at the office and have my assistant, Nita, call you. We can work through her.” She made her voice cold.

“I want a meeting tonight. Dinner. With you. Not Nita. I'll bet you have your calendar in that thick briefcase somewhere.”

“No,” she lied.

“If you don't say yes, I'll tell Tom that's the only free time I have. He'll order you to see me.”

“I won't sleep with you again.”

“Then you're a helluva lot better at resisting temptation than I am, darlin'.”

“Don't be a jerk.”

“I would have left you alone, if you hadn't shown up today and tempted me.”

“Please…”

When he moved closer, a wild, pagan song drummed through her pulse. “I like you. You could like me back without half trying.”

His possessive gaze raked her body and caused a wild thrill to trace through her nerves. “But I'm not going to,” she whispered unsteadily.

“Why? What are you running from?”

“Nothing. I just want to be left alone.”

“Then why did you make love to me last night like you would die if you didn't?”

“It was just sex.”

“We both wish,” he growled.

She felt a wistful little smile flicker across her lips as she remembered his body plunging inside hers. “Good sex,” she conceded. She hugged herself. So good that she was so sore, she remembered she'd been in his arms every time she took the smallest step.

“Why do you hate yourself, Amy?”

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

“That damn tattoo! Did that bastard whose name starts with
L
do something to you? Who the hell is he, anyway?”

She felt the blood drain from her face and the air rush from her lungs. Despite the heat, suddenly she was shivering.

“If he hurt you, if he's the reason you're so afraid, I'll hunt him down for you! I'll… I'll cut off his—”

His nearness caused her blood to roar in her ears. In another moment she'd fling herself into his arms.

“I'm not afraid because of any guy, okay?” she whispered. “Do yourself a favor and forget me. I'm not worth all this.”

“You are to me.”

“I could hurt you—terribly.”

“I'm willing to take the risk. You want my arms around you right now, don't you? In this hellaciously hot loft? You want to feel alive, desired, loved the same as I do.”

Even before he took her hand and brought it to his lips, she was melting. He looked down at her and his eyes burned her like lasers. He was so damned handsome.

He could seduce her so easily, she knew. Just hold
ing her hand and staring at her brought her to a level of arousal she'd only known last night.

As if touching fire, she yanked her hand free and scuttled quickly away from him, groping for the ladder.

Breathing hard and blinking against tears, she gulped out, “Pigs don't sweat!”

The spell that had gripped him was broken.

“What?”

“You're a rancher. Don't you know anything? Pigs like to wallow in cool mud because they don't have sweat glands.” She began climbing down the rungs.

“Hey—”

She flung herself onto the concrete floor and ran toward the barn doors.

A
my had said she wasn't afraid, but her face had gone as white as chalk, and her huge eyes had blazed with panic before she'd run. She'd looked just like his brother Jack used to look if someone so much as dared mention a car wreck.

What had gone so terribly wrong in Amy's life? Whatever it was, she couldn't handle it any better than Jack had been able to handle Ann's death after the head-on collision that had left Ann dead and him alive. His brother would still be shutting people out, just the way Amy was shutting him out now, if he hadn't fallen in love with Gloria. Steve had tried to help Jack, but Jack had rebuffed him. Madison had rejected him, too.

Steve knew better than to try to help. Still, he couldn't stop himself from tearing after Amy in a mad rush. She
was almost to the barn doors when he caught her by the wrist and yanked her against his body.

“Why do you hate yourself, Amy? Why would you want to punish yourself?”

She blanched. “It's none of your business.”

“You're wrong,” he rasped. Bringing his arm around her, he hauled her against the solid wall of his chest. “I care about you. Doesn't that make it my business?”

She lifted her sad, shimmering gaze to his. Her lips were trembling so violently he sucked in a breath. But when she put her fists on his chest and pushed him away, he released her.

“And you care about me,” he insisted.

She gulped in a breath.

“Amy, I'm going to find out. There are ways—”

“Don't you dare try. Look, I…I don't care about you. You've known me what—all of one night?”

“The best night of my life, darlin'.”

“I didn't invite you into my life.”

“Yes, you did. You stared at me with those big, sad eyes.”

“So? I wanted to sleep with you. I admit it. Big deal. Now I want to be left alone. I'm sorry if you want more. I don't. You'll just have to accept that.”

His jaw tightened.

“Just because you slept with me doesn't give you the right to push me around. Who do you think you are—threatening to find out stuff about me behind my back? The guy I fell for last night wouldn't do that. You're worse, way worse than my mother.”

It was his turn to turn white and go cold. Somehow he knew that was the worst thing she could have said.

“You're right. The last thing I want is to bully you.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. It was very difficult for him to turn his back on someone he loved when she was in trouble. “All right,” he muttered. “Have it your way. Be miserable. Make me miserable, too.”

When she turned, he followed her out of the barn into the brilliant sunshine.

“There you two are,” Tom barked, waving Amy over to meet Ryan and Lily, who were standing on the front porch. No sooner had they joined the group than a late-model red Cadillac whirled past them, only to stop amidst plumes of dust in the purple shade of the big live oak in front of the ranch house.

When the couple left the motor running and stayed inside the big car, Tom introduced Amy to Ryan and Lily.

After a brief exchange, Tom's cell phone rang. Within seconds he signaled his pilot.

“Gotta go,” he said to Ryan. “Got a meeting in San Antonio. Just wanted to stop by and see how things are going. Steve, it looks like you need to light a fire under that contractor of yours. Burke, I'll call you later. I've got a lot of ideas.”

When Tom dashed to the helicopter, everybody stayed on the porch so they would be out of the way of flying dust when Tom's helicopter took off.

Rotors whirled and for a few seconds the helicopter hovered, causing a miniature dust storm of its own. Then Tom was above the blowing debris, waving down at them from the blue sky.

“Nice of him to stop by,” Ryan said at the exact moment his cell phone rang. “Hell, it's the Red Rock PD.” He snapped the phone open and held it against his ear. Even before the dust settled, Ryan's expression darkened.

Curious, but not wanting to pry, Steve stared at the Cadillac and wondered why the couple didn't get out.

“Tom's very anxious that the awards banquet be a success,” Amy said to Lily, her eye on the Cadillac, as well. “He's impressed with all Ryan has done, and, frankly, so am I.” She hesitated. “I'd like to talk to you both about all your various interests, your children, your careers, but especially your charity work. The governor wants this to be your party, so it needs to reflect your personality and what you've done for Texas. Tom told me, ‘Ryan's the kind of Texan who makes Texas look even bigger on the map.'”

“That's so sweet of him,” Lily said.

“Maybe we can talk a little today, and I'll give you my card in case you think of anything else.”

“I'll give you mine, too. Call us anytime,” Lily said.

She and Amy were digging in their purses for their cards as Ryan hung up. When he stared past them at the Cadillac with a glazed expression, Lily touched her husband's shoulder. “Who was that on the phone, dear? You look worried.”

Ryan took a deep breath. “Gabe.”

“Thunderhawk? That awful, arrogant cop who gave me that ridiculously expensive ticket?”

“You were speeding, Lily.” Although his voice was gentle, Ryan didn't smile at her as he usually did. “This is about a drowning at Lake Mondo.”

Amy's hand flew to her throat. Then she went still.

“For some reason Gabe thinks I can identify a body that washed up on the shore,” Ryan finished.

Amy made a small choking sound. “Lake Mondo?”

“Are you okay?” Steve whispered under his breath to Amy.

Amy, who was as white as paper, looked straight ahead as she backed blindly away from the group.

“But why you, Ryan?” Lily asked. “Who does he think it is?”

“He says it's a relative of mine.”

“But—”

“He suspects murder. The body was in the water several days.”

Amy was still frozen. The last bit of light had gone out of her eyes.

The doors of the Cadillac slammed open. Steve, who was worried about both Amy and Ryan, frowned when a tall, dark man about his own age erupted out of the driver's side and dashed around the front of the car. Ignoring him, a voluptuous blonde in a cowgirl costume oozed out of the passenger side. Shooting Steve and Ryan a slow, high-voltage smile, she ripped her red-checkered western shirt out of the waistband of her skintight jeans and began retucking it.

Spandex, Steve thought. He should know. When the woman kept smiling at him, Steve couldn't help smiling back, even though his primary concern was for Amy, who still looked pale and frozen.

Every other man was watching the newcomer, who was still bending and twisting, pretending she was fid
dling with her shirttail when in reality she was showing off her breasts and hips.

In her hokey cowgirl costume the blonde had the security guys' tongues hanging out.

Jewels sparkled when she fluffed her bleached blond hair. Steve would bet the diamonds were fakes. Same as her boobs. The red little-girl bow in her big Texas hair added a bizarre touch.

“Who's that?” Amy muttered, taking an interest in the new arrival at last when Ryan dashed down the steps to welcome them.

“Hell if I know,” Steve said.

“Her jeans are so tight, you could strike a match on her hips.”

Steve grinned. “Jealous?”

The skin beneath Amy's blue eyes was suddenly drawn and pale again. She looked so fragile, he wished he hadn't teased her.

“Of course not.” She smoothed her hair out of her eyes and smiled at Lily. “Maybe the two of us could talk now, Lily.”

“Now would be a great time.”

Amy pulled out a notepad.

Steve excused himself. “If you two are going to get down to business, I think I'd better introduce myself to my guests.”

When Amy and Lily nodded, Steve loped down the drive and thrust out his hand to the blonde. Her hand was soft, and she held on to his much longer than was necessary.

“Hi,” she cooed. “I'm Melissa Wilkes.”

“Steve Fortune.”

“I know.” She drew him closer and whispered, “Too bad my husband's with me, sugar.”

“Introduce me, why don't you?” Steve said.

She gave a practiced sigh of regret. “Hey, Jason, baby.”

Jason's dark head whipped around. Patting Ryan's shoulder, he strode over to them. “Steve Fortune?”

Steve shook his hand.

“Jason Wilkes.” Jason's smile was quick and eager, his grip sure and almost too forceful. “Logan and Ryan have told me all about you and the Loma Vista.” Jason's brown eyes swept the improved pastures, the native-limestone mansion and cottages, the barns, stables, cookhouse and the livestock. “Said good things. Only good things. I can see why.”

Logan Fortune, Ryan's nephew, was the current CEO of Fortune TX, Ltd., Ryan's company. Although Ryan still went in most days, he served as an advisor only.

“Logan said you put all this together in the past ten years,” Jason said to Steve.

“You a rancher?”

“Hope to be.” Jason's eyes gleamed.

“He's a lot like you,” Ryan said proudly. “You two have the same energy and ambition I had when I was your age.”

“That means a lot, coming from you,” Jason replied.

“If people were stock, I'd bet on you two,” Ryan said. “Jason got my attention when Logan told me about a complicated oil deal Jason literally made happen.”

Jason beamed as Ryan bragged about him. His smile brightened when Ryan began to talk about the old days
when he'd been building his empire. Wilkes was a good listener. He said all the right things and asked the correct questions whenever there was an appropriate lull.

His dark hair was perfectly cut, his nails buffed, and his khakis and brand-name T-shirt neatly pressed. He was every bit as slick and polished as Larry Cabot and his rich, spoiled bunch had been.

Old money? Maybe. Then Steve considered Melissa.

Then again maybe not. Still, guys like Wilkes used to intimidate the hell out of Steve when he'd been a kid at Yale, running around with Cabot and his fast, popular clique.

While Ryan expanded on his exploits and Jason listened, rapt, Melissa yawned and shifted her weight from one booted foot to the other until Jason frowned at her.

Steve smiled as he listened to Ryan's favorite story about his first wildcat oil well, then he noticed Lily standing alone sipping ice water under the skimpy shade of a mesquite tree. Where was Amy?

Lily's brow puckered as she watched Ryan, but Steve didn't dwell on her obvious wifely concern. Amy was gone.

Where the hell was she?

His gaze wandered from his ranch house to the barn and to the pastures. He couldn't forget how lost and sick she'd looked when Ryan had mentioned that body washing up.

He had to find her.

 

Amy leaned against a yellow bulldozer by the clearing where the party tents would be set up, her pencil
poised where she'd been jotting notes on her legal pad so feverishly she'd broken the lead of her mechanical pencil six times. She knew because she'd counted.

Heck, she was an events planner. She was used to counting tables, chairs, centerpieces, tablecloths, silverware and on and on. Counting was in her blood.

But counting wasn't the issue. She'd broken the lead six times because ghosts were wailing in her head.

She was under dark water, her lungs exploding as she kicked her way to the surface. After gulping air, she began screaming for Lexie. When she was nearly exhausted from treading water and fighting for every breath, she drifted into her overturned boat and managed to cling to the bow line. Hours later when two fishermen motored up, she was so hysterical all she could say was, “You've got to find Lexie.”

Then she was in their boat, her white-knuckled hands clutching their fiberglass boat railing. Other boats joined them, and she heard other voices yelling into the darkness while she strained to find Lexie in those black waters.

They'd motored on Lake Mondo all night long that first night and then all the next day and into the night.

When Lexie's body had washed to shore three weeks later, Lexie's father had come by Amy's parents' house and demanded to talk to the girl who'd killed his daughter. Her mother had barred the door with her own body like a protective mother bear, refusing to let him in.

“But I want to see him,” Amy had said, stepping past her mother's thin, black-clad figure onto the porch.

Robert Vale had looked haggard and old. His cheekbones had stuck out through his gray, translucent skin.
His eyes had been dead and soulless, like glass marbles in a skull's eye sockets. His hair had turned white and blew about his colorless face like tufts of straw. His hands had shaken so badly he'd plunged them into his pockets.

“This is all your fault,” he'd said, his tone so low and thready and yet deadly, she'd had to lean closer to hear him.

“You were driving the boat,” he'd accused.

“We hit a log.”

“You were going too fast or she wouldn't have been thrown out of the boat. You were wearing the only life vest. Why was that?”

“I don't know. I don't know.”

“You don't deserve to live. Remember that! Not if
my
daughter's dead!”

His words had hammered into her the truth she'd lived with for eight years. They had deadened her heart and made her numb. Yet here she was—alive still. Achingly, painfully alive.

The warm June wind blowing across her face brought Amy back to the bittersweet present. As she pushed more lead out of her pencil, she couldn't resist lifting her face to the gentle breezes that rustled the grasses and made the yellow legal pages flutter.

She set her tablet on the ground. The sweet smells of grass and hay and other woodsy scents were irresistible. She wrinkled her nose, inhaling yesterday, inhaling all the yesterdays of her childhood before she and Lexie had hit their troubled adolescence and rebelled.