Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (7 page)

“Forget that, Whitty.” Tag leaned a hip against the counter and frowned at the smaller man. “If they get rowdy one more time, I’m going to toss their asses out of my county.”

Whitty’s eyes went round and twin spots of pink dotted his cheeks. “No, no, no. You most certainly will not. Sheriff, do you have any idea how much money they’re spending in Freedom? Why the Chrome Barrel is raking it in nightly, or so Antoine says. And surely Maljib would lose a ton of money, too.”

Tag held up his hand. “I’ve given them plenty of warnings. And is that why you haven’t called me out here?”

The look the hotel manager gave the sheriff promised a stern discussion if he followed through with his threat.

Rebecca handed back her signed receipt. She had a feeling the wedding party—whoever they were—could set off bombs in their rooms and she wouldn’t report it. She understood kids being kids even if they were adults. No need to ruin a wedding weekend just because of shenanigans.
Although maybe bombs aren’t the best example considering one has already gone off in this hotel.
“Okay, great. Thanks.”

Whitcombe slid the metal key across the countertop then snatched it back. “Oh, dear, 230 won’t work.”

Tag shifted beside her. When she peeked up at him he wore a look of growing impatience. She held out her hand. “It will be fine, Mr. Whitcombe.”

“No, no. You see there is also a single, young man from Bastrop in 228. He’s just across the hall from you.”

Tag inhaled sharply. “What’s his name?”

“Sheriff, you know I can’t tell you that.”

The ticking muscle resumed in Tag’s jaw. “Is that the reporter? Don’t tell him a God damn thing about anything, Whitty. You hear me?”

The Brit sniffed and drew himself up so tight he resembled one of those wooden butlers she saw in antique stores. “Of course not, Sheriff. We pride ourselves on being discreet here at the Calico Queen.”

“Since when?”

Eager to head off the brewing argument, Rebecca wiggled her fingers. “I promise, it’ll be okay.” She didn’t know if his British sensibilities were scandalized by the thought of her being near a single man, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get her key and find her room.

Whitcombe held Tag’s hard gaze for a moment longer then nodded. “Very well, then. One room key.” He gave her a lone metal key with a red tag emblazoned with the Calico Queen in gold script. “The hotel is a bit old-fashioned but we’re working on that. Clean linens are provided every three days unless you request them more often. If you do, there’s a five-dollar laundry charge per day. Same for towels. There is a safe in the closet. You set it with your own password. We don’t have any Internet access and the phone is a party line.” He gave her a tight smile. “Updates in technology are very expensive. We do have color television, though. And cable.”

No Internet? Impossible! Ridiculous! I’ll never survive.
Rebecca reeled at the thought of being Webless. She swallowed and nodded numbly then turned to leave.

Tag’s big hand wrapped around her elbow and turned her to the left. “Door’s this way, Miss Lyons.”

She stumbled back into the searing light of the Texas sun then wilted into the car when he opened the door for her. Her skull hit the headrest with a loud plop. She tried to erase the look of shock and horror she figured was all over her face before he got inside. The car swayed as he sat down.

Tag started the engine. “You okay?”

She cracked her neck and frowned. “No Internet? Are you freaking kidding me? What about 4G service? Tell me I can get online with my phone at least.”

He grinned and gunned the car. “Spotty at best. Welcome to Mayberry.”

“Afternoon, Maljib,” Wade said as he ducked into the Tin Star. “How’s it going?”

“Very well, Mr. Merritt, thank you. Yourself?”

Wade grimaced. “How many years is it gonna take for you to call me Wade?”

The dark-haired man smiled and smoothed a hand over his lapel. “How many has it been?”

“Seven.”

“Hm. Perhaps seven more. Sheriff Cain and a lovely young woman are here. Would you care to join them?”

“Yeah.” Wade followed the restaurateur down the narrow hallway toward the large dining room. “Why so long?”

“My people believe in formality. I’m merely following tradition.”

Wade snorted. “Right. This is the same tradition that would have had you married to a seventeen-year-old on your thirty-fifth birthday. Remember?”

Maljib shuddered. “Please, do not remind me.” His voice held just the barest hint of an accent. Not quite British, not quite Yankee, and definitely not Texan.

Wade knew Maljib hailed from Tajikistan and he spoke fluent Russian, but he’d spent most of his formative years bouncing between Boston and his homeland. He’d landed in Freedom like so many of its other residents—looking for peace and understanding. No one had been more shocked than Wade when Maljib and Bosco Evans hit it off so well that Bosco sold him the restaurant when he decided to retire. Maljib had taken the standard diner food and elevated it to a work of culinary art with few rivals. People flocked to the Tin Star from all over Texas. Wade had seen it listed as a must visit restaurant in several airline magazines when he flew to California to visit his son Riley.

They reached the doorway into the dining room and the noise level increased ten-fold. It looked like every seat in the house was filled. Wade saw Tag’s broad back near the far corner. A gorgeous blonde sat across from him. She smiled then laughed then clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from over here, but he damn sure hoped they were green.

He was a sucker for green-eyed blondes.

“Well, hello, nurse,” he murmured.

“I told you she was lovely.”

Wade clamped Maljib on the shoulder as he eased past. “Maljib, lovely is a rose or sunset.
That
”—he pointed at Tag’s companion—“is perfection.”

Maljib rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that line, Mr. Merritt. I’ll send Catherine over to take your order.”

Wade grinned as he approached the table. The blonde saw him first and her eyes widened then flicked along his body. He shivered at the unexpected connection. He faltered then regained his stride. He offered her a smile as he pulled back a chair and sat next to Tag.

“Afternoon, Tag. Ma’am.” He didn’t look at his friend. He couldn’t. The green-eyed vixen held him in complete rapture.

“Wade.”

“Hello.” The woman looked inquiringly at Tag. Her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed at his silence. She reached a hand over the table. “I’m Rebecca Lyons.”

Wade took the proffered hand in his. Her skin was soft and delicate, but there was strength in her grip that pleased him. He thought there was nothing worse than a wimpy handshake.

“Wade Merritt,” he said. He cocked his head in Tag’s direction. “Is this guy giving you any trouble?”

Tag snorted.

Rebecca’s glance bounced between them and Wade saw the wheels turning.

“From what I have learned about him, trouble is Sheriff Cain’s forte.”

Wade’s grin widened and he looked at Tag. “She’s got you pegged.”

Tag’s only retort was a sour glare. “Don’t you have something else to be doing?”

“Nope. I’m running the blood drive this afternoon from six to eight.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got about forty-five minutes. Plenty of time to eat.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Catherine appeared.

“Wade. What can I get you? The usual?” She cocked her slender hip out and peered at Rebecca with an interested expression. “You decide yet, Miss Lyons?”

Rebecca flushed and her gaze dropped back to the menu. “Uh, not really.”

Wade thought the blush on her cheeks was adorable. The pink accentuated the stunning porcelain of her skin and made her green eyes all the more beautiful.

God, I love green-eyed blondes.

“You should try the chicken-fried steak,” he told her. “It’s my favorite thing on the menu.”

Her eyes lifted and a small smile tipped up her luscious mouth. His train of thought suddenly derailed.

A man could get into a lot of trouble fantasizing about her mouth. He could imagine her full bottom lip dragging softly along his cock. He had a feeling her lips could wrap around the head of his dick and suck the life right out of him and he’d die a happy, contented man.

“What is that?”

Her soft question shook him back to reality. Wade casually leaned back in his chair and jammed his hands in his pockets to adjust his erection.

“What’s what?” He shot a quick look down at his fly.

“What’s chicken-fried steak? Is it chicken or is it steak?”

Wade’s mouth dropped open and he swiveled his head to stare at Tag, who shrugged, then back at Rebecca. “Are you serious?”

She laughed as she rolled her eyes. “No. I’m from Boston, not outer space.” She closed her menu and handed it to Catherine. “I’ll have the sliced turkey plate with a side of steamed green beans.”

Catherine nodded. “Good choice. Maljib’s turkey is very succulent. You get one more side.”

Rebecca’s lips wiggled. “Hmmm.”

“Get the potato salad,” a graveled voice commented from a nearby table. “Hello, Wade. I already gave, see?”

Wade leaned past Tag and studied the woman’s upheld arm. A cartoon duck bandage covered part of her inner arm. “Hello, Miss Sadie. Thank you. How are you today?”

She waved and stood. “Fantastic. You make sure that young lady gets some of Maljib’s potato salad.” Sadie placed her hand on Tag’s shoulder. The low chatter of the room seemed to hush then fade. “Sheriff. Tag. You hang in there, you hear me? We believe in you and there’s not a damn soul in this place who’ll say otherwise.” Sadie lifted her ink black, curly-haired head and stared around the restaurant. The overhead lights glinted off her thick glasses. “Isn’t that right, folks?”

A murmuring roar met the question and noise exploded all over again.

A young man half rose from his seat but Tag glared him back down.

“Who’s that?” Wade asked.

“Donald Alcott. He’s a reporter from Bastrop. Said he wants to cover the Fischer story. Can’t imagine why he’s not thrilled I’m not letting him anywhere near the place. Not to mention he’s a speed demon. He’s racked up two tickets already. One more and he’ll be visiting the inside of my jail cell but nowhere else.”

Wade chuckled at the fierce look Tag gave the young man. He looked to be in his midtwenties and obviously had a love affair with the gym. The man’s biceps bulged from the black knit shirt he wore and he had bigger boobs than half the women in town. Being fit was one thing but Wade sure didn’t understand getting Hulked up like this Alcott guy.

“We believe in you, Sheriff,” Hank said.

Wade tipped his chair to look around Tag’s back. He waved at Hank. She was sitting with a stout-looking blond fellow. It was the same guy he’d seen opening the door to the Tin Star for them a few days earlier.

Another stranger.
The town was awash with them right now. Wade knew the Hitching Post did a booming business with its summer weddings and venues. He studied the man again and noted the ripple of muscles on his chest. It appeared the guy was another gym rat. He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned one too many in his opinion. Girls should show cleavage, not guys. The man lifted his glass of tea in the direction of the table.

“I have but just met you, Sheriff, but Miss Sadie and my lovely Hank tell me you are
wunderbar
. I do not doubt their wisdom. For what it is worth, you have my support as well.”

Sadie beamed at the stranger. Twin flags of color emphasized the blush she’d laid down with a heavy hand. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.” She turned back to them. “He’s an ancestor of Alfons Huber. Isn’t that exciting? He’s in town to do some research for Herr Huber’s one-hundred-and-fiftieth birthday.”

Rebecca nodded and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Whitcombe mentioned he was in town for that. Tracing lineage is very interesting.”

Sadie’s eyes lit up. “You’re into genealogy?”

“Oh hell,” Wade muttered. “That’s Sadie’s current passion. She’s working her way back through all the founding fathers of Freedom. God only knows what sorts of scandals she’s going to uncover.”

Sadie frowned. “Hush, Wade Merritt.”

He grinned. “Why on earth would I do that? Baiting you is so much fun.”

She glowered then returned her attention to Tag. “Anyway, Sheriff. We just want you to know we’re behind you one hundred percent. We know the truth and we’ll testify to that in court if need be. Won’t we?”

A few people yelled and clapped.

“Enough,” Tag said firmly.

Silence descended again. He lifted Sadie’s hand and patted it gently. “Thanks, Sadie.” He nodded at Rebecca. “Miss Lyons here is the best in the business. I know you’ve heard of her reputation by now.”

Sadie gave a sharp nod. “I have. I also did some investigating. You have an excellent reputation for toughness, Miss Lyons. An interesting history as well.”

Rebecca cleared her throat before inclining her head. “Being tough helps when you’re a defense lawyer.”

Wade heard the thread of steel in her voice. He liked that.
What kind of interesting history?

Sadie tapped the tabletop with one wrinkled fingertip. “I know about your sixth sense, too. I’m glad you’re sitting down to lunch with the sheriff here. Not that I needed any proof of his innocence, but your reputation doesn’t hurt.”

“What reputation?” Wade asked.

A new flush brushed along Rebecca’s cheeks and she squirmed in her chair.

“She can tell if you’re guilty or innocent just by looking at you,” Catherine chimed in.

“Really, it’s not like that.” Rebecca lifted a palm. “Please.”

“No need to be modest, Miss Lyons,” Sadie said. She smiled. “We love Sheriff Tag even though he is a rascal.”

Wade laughed. “Rascal, huh?”

She frowned at him and waggled her finger like an elementary school teacher. “You’re no better, Wade Merritt. You get him into as much trouble as he gets himself into.”