Going Cowboy Crazy (13 page)

Burl put an arm around Jenna and tugged her against his chest. “I’m not done with you, Calhoun,” he warned
before he shot Faith a beseeching look. “Hopefully, someday, you’ll let us explain.”

He led Jenna from the room.

After the front door slammed, Slate wasn’t sure what to do. It was like a tornado had hit without warning, turning what had once been familiar into unrecognizable wreckage. Wanting to ease the tension, he made a stab at humor.

It was a lame attempt.

“So, darlin’, you think there’s room in that car of yours for another passenger?” He turned to her with a weak smile, but the image she presented caused the smile to drop.

She cowered in the corner, her hands clutching the sheet, her blue eyes huge and filled with tears.

“Faith, darlin’.” He held out a hand, but she recoiled from it and shook her head.

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.”

He held up his hands, afraid that if he touched her she’d fall apart like the fragile paper of a hornet’s nest. And he didn’t think he could deal with that. Not when just the sight of her all bunched up like a scared, trapped animal made him want to weep and sob like Jenna.

“That’s all right, honey. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”

“You and Hope”—her gaze dropped down to the bed, and she swallowed hard—“are… sweethearts?”

He cleared his throat and stared down at his bare toes. “Not exactly. It’s kind of a funny story, really. You see—”

“Get out.”

The hateful words caused his head to snap up. The woman that looked back at him wasn’t the soft-spoken,
mild-mannered woman he’d spent the last two days with. This woman still looked hurt but also madder than a cornered rattlesnake.

“Let me explain, Faith—”

“Get out.”

Sometimes retreat was the wisest move. Especially when facing a woman who looked like she wanted to rip your head off and spit in your neck.

He backed away. “I can see you need a little time alone, so I’m just going to go scrounge us up something to eat. And while I’m doing that, why don’t you take a nice, long shower. Don’t worry about using all the hot water—I could use a cold shower to wake me up.” He grabbed the doorknob. “And then after you’re feeling better, we can sit down, and I’ll explain things. How does that sound?”

She glared at him.

“All right then, if you need anything, you just call.” He motioned to the dog that stood at the foot of the bed. “Come on, Buster.”

But Buster was smarter than the rest of them. He didn’t ask permission. He simply jumped on the bed and bumped his nose against Faith. Her arms wrapped around him as she slipped down to the bed, her sobs shaking her entire body.

With his own eyes stinging, Slate pulled the door closed behind him.

T
HE WEAK TRICKLE OF HOT WATER
didn’t make Faith feel better, but it did help her collect her thoughts. Thoughts that had been jumbled up from the moment she stared into the petite woman’s brown eyes. Even if the color was wrong, the shape had been familiar. Along with the nose, the mouth, and the stubborn chin. A prickle of recognition had been there even before the woman called her Faith.

The woman.

Jenna Scroggs.

Her mother.

A mother who’d given her away at birth.

And Burl Scroggs.

Her father who had gone along with it.

The realization still brought pain, but not as intense as before. She no longer felt like she would break out in tears at any minute. Of course, she’d cried most of her tears out on poor Buster. By the time she had finally dried up, the spot on his neck was drenched. Did salt water hurt dogs? She hoped not. She would hate to do any more harm to the sweet animal.

She turned off the shower. She might not want to hurt Buster, but she wanted to hurt someone else. Like a certain deceitful redneck. If she was upset over her biological parents’ rejection, she was absolutely furious over Slate’s deception.

He and Hope weren’t just friends. They were sweethearts. So close that even her parents weren’t surprised to find them in bed together. Arrrgh! Faith had slept with her sister’s boyfriend, and not just slept. She had practically thrown herself at him. And the dirty, rotten liar hadn’t said a word. Not at Sutter Springs. Or all day yesterday. Or especially not last night. She squeezed her eyes shut. Obviously, to an egotistical redneck, there was nothing wrong with keeping it in the family.

The sleazeball.

She jerked open the shower curtain so hard that she pulled off two of the metal rings. A glass of orange juice sat on the edge of the sink. The sight only made her angrier. No, she didn’t feel like crying anymore. Now she felt like hitting something. Really hard. Like a cocky cowboy’s face.

She drank the orange juice only because she was thirsty and because ignoring it wouldn’t prove anything. And she was ready to prove some things. Like she was through being a doormat. Not for a lying jerk. Or a sheriff with dementia. Or heartless biological parents. And certainly not for an entire wacko town that refused to accept the truth.

It had taken her thirty years, but Faith Aldridge, or whoever she was, had finally reached the limit of what she was willing to put up with. She was mad as hell, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

At least not from anybody in this Podunk town.

With anger boiling in her stomach, she slipped on the new clothes Slate had washed the day before—the new pink lacy panties and bra, the tight Wranglers, and the pink and red plaid shirt with the pearl snaps. She looped the brown silver-studded belt through her pant loops, then tugged on the red cowboy boots. Unable to find a hair straightener in town, she fluffed her hair with the new blow-dryer, then sprayed it into a wild spiky array. Using a heavy hand, she applied her new cosmetics, then stepped back to study the results.

The woman who stared back at her didn’t look like Faith Anne Aldridge, the conservative unassuming computer nerd from Chicago. She looked like a woman you didn’t want to mess with—which was exactly who she wanted to be.

This time, Slate wasn’t waiting outside the bathroom door. Just Buster followed her around the bedroom as she collected the rest of her things. As she moved around the room, she kept her gaze away from the bed with its rumpled sheets. Earlier she’d heard the sounds of banging pans and sizzling bacon. Now she didn’t hear anything. If she was lucky, the jerk had run off, and she’d never have to lay eyes on him again. Unfortunately, she’d never been lucky, and once she got to the kitchen, a quick glance out the window proved her luck hadn’t changed.

Slate stood next to a blue SUV, talking through the open window to Kenny. Her eyes narrowed on his casual stance and naked back. The man was too conceited for his own good. He stood there looking as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just had sex with his girlfriend’s sister or witnessed her humiliation at the hands of her
biological parents. He stood there looking like he always did—happy-go-lucky, confident, and gorgeous.

Jerk.

The aroma of bacon pulled her gaze away from the window and down to plates filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. She grabbed a piece of bacon and took a bite of it, debating her next move.

If her cell phone hadn’t been dead and her charger in her missing car, she would call for a cab. Not that there was cab service way out in the sticks. Her gaze fell on a set of keys next to a worn black wallet. Of course; why did she need a cab when there was a vehicle sitting right in front?

Before she even had the front door completely opened, Buster squeezed past her legs and raced over to Slate, who glanced up in time to register shock.

He recovered quickly.

“Well, don’t you look all spiffed up and ready to shine?”

“You sure do, Hope—” Kenny shot a quick glance at Slate. “I mean Faith.”

She ignored both of them as she took the stairs and headed for the big monster truck. It was harder to get into without Slate’s help, but she managed it and had the door closed and the seat adjusted before his shock wore off.

“Now, darlin’.” Slate hurried across the dirt yard. “That’s a pretty big truck for a little gal like you—”

When he stopped to pick a sticker out of the bottom of his bare foot, Faith started the engine. The loud rumbling startled her, but only for a second, the second right before Slate stepped in front with his hands held up.

“Now, Faith, honey. I don’t think this is the time to
be driving. Not when you’re so upset and all. Besides, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Fuck you.”

His hazel eyes widened, and his strong jaw dropped.

Faith was almost as shocked. She knew the word but had never said it. Surprisingly, it felt good. Real good.

“Slate?” Kenny called from his truck. “You sure that ain’t Hope? ’Cause that’s a Hope word if ever I heard one.”

Slate remained frozen until Faith popped the truck into drive. But when the huge tires rolled toward him, he moved quickly enough.

“Faith!” His voice no longer sounded all southern sweetness as she maneuvered the truck around Kenny’s SUV. “This isn’t funny anymore. Damn it, Faith, you get back here right now!”

She gunned the truck, and it shot out into the road amid a spray of dust and gravel. As she fought for control of the beast, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Slate stood in the plume of dust with his eyes squinted and his fists clenched, while Buster stood next to him with his tail wagging. Ignoring the spark of sadness the sight evoked, she looked away and concentrated on driving.

It wasn’t easy. She now understood why Slate had straddled the yellow lines. Any little movement caused the wheels to veer to one side or the other. But after a while, she got the hang of it and found there was something kind of empowering about being in control of something so big. High atop her perch, she stared out at the world in front of her, daring anyone to cross her path.

The feeling was so exhilarating that she considered driving all the way to California. But then she vetoed the idea. She might not want to be a doormat, but she wasn’t a
thief. Besides, she wasn’t about to leave her Volvo and all her suitcases.

Thinking about California caused her to think about Hope. At least now Faith didn’t have to worry about telling her she was adopted. Hope had grown up with her biological parents. Faith was the only disposable daughter.

Pain welled up again, but before it sent her into another sobbing fit, she reached over and turned on the radio. A twanging male voice came on singing some country song about sweet tea and bad directions. She changed channels. She’d had enough twanging voices to last a lifetime. Unfortunately, every programmed station turned out to be country, so she was forced to use the dial until she found something that didn’t make her weepy or so angry that she wanted to smash the radio with her fist.

She had just found a pop station when the truck started to bounce. She glanced up to discover that she was driving on the shoulder of the road, flattening clumps of brown bushy grass beneath the huge, deep-treaded tires.

But the grass didn’t concern her as much as the pedestrian.

With her heart in her throat, she laid on the horn just in time to alert the young man. He dove out of the way as she jerked on the steering wheel, the truck careening across the road to the opposite shoulder before she slammed on the brakes.

She jerked up the emergency brake, then opened the door and jumped down. “Ohmygod!” She raced around the back. “Are you okay?”

The teenage boy stared up at her from his spot on the ground. His ball cap had flown off, and he had one iPod earplug intact while the other hung over his dusty T-shirt.

“Have you lost your mind, lady?” He got up, his rangy body unfolding to a good three inches over six feet, and brushed at the dirt on his jeans.

“I am so sorry.” Faith picked a chunk of sod off his shoulder. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No shit,” he said, before he blushed. “Pardon me, ma’am. But cusswords have a way of slipping out during stressful situations. And almost being killed is a pretty stressful situation.”

Since Faith had used the king daddy of all cusswords just minutes earlier, she couldn’t say much. “Maybe we should take you to the hospital.” She leaned closer. “Is that a cut on your forehead? Oh no, are you bleeding?”

“It’s nothing.” He reached down to pick up his backpack.

“Of course it’s something. We need to get that cleaned before it gets infected. People can die from infection.” She picked up his cap, then grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the truck, which wasn’t an easy task with a kid that big. “Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?”

“Geez, I’m fine.”

But Faith refused to release him until she reached the truck and took out the disinfectant wipes. She pulled out two wipes as she examined the small cut. Actually, it was more like a scratch, which caused her to relax a little.

“So what were you doing walking along the highway? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” She handed him the wipes. “Don’t put these in your mouth.” By the confused look on his face, it was a stupid warning but she wasn’t taking any chances.