Into the Arms of a Cowboy (2 page)

“A touch more coffee,
hon
?” Jess glanced up to see Tricia slanting a bold smile his way.

“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m fine.” Or he would be, once he got back on the road. The sooner, the better.

Once she got herself cleaned up, Cassie felt almost human again. Her sense of humor reasserted itself. Either that, or she was sliding into hysteria. She eyed her reflection in the mirror over the sink. “I’ll end up in the morgue, the waitress says.” She stifled a nervous giggle. “Little does she know.”

Her edgy smile faded as she remembered the man who’d watched her from the far end of the counter a few minutes ago. An undeniably attractive man, compactly built, sinewy rather than slender, with dark hair in need of a trim. In mud-spattered jeans, leather cowboy boots, and a chambray work shirt, he stood out like a sore thumb. His black Stetson sat on the counter next to him.

He had a rugged face, sun-bronzed, weathered, memorable if not handsome. It was the face of a man who spent most of his time out of doors. A face that had known some wear and tear, to judge by the slightly crooked angle of his nose. But it was his eyes that had riveted her. Chocolate-brown eyes blazing with anger, devil-dark eyes that seemed to look right through her as if he knew what she’d done.

Cassie shivered as she popped her favorite raspberry lip gloss back into her handbag. With luck, he’d be gone by the time she came out of the restroom. She didn’t want to face him again, or feel that unsettling flutter deep in her abdomen.

She rummaged in her bag again and drew out her wallet. She’d keep the cash, but her American Express and ATM cards had to go, along with her driver’s license and any other ID. From now on, she’d be incognito. Cassie snipped the cards in half with a pair of toenail scissors, then wrapped them in toilet paper and
dropped them in the garbage can
She bit back a hysterical giggle. Did it really matter if someone used her credit card? It wasn’t as if she’d be home to open the bill.

Next she fished out her iPhone. This made her hesitate and bite her lip, but it had to go, too. They could trace her location if she kept it. Cassie dropped it in the trash as well, with a sigh of deep regret.

It was time for that hot cocoa. If a shot of sugar couldn’t jolt her brain back into working order, nothing could. She needed all her faculties to figure out her next step. Her options were limited. Her parents were gone, her string of foster parents three thousand miles away. She had a few casual friends in the City, but no one she could ask to take the risk of hiding a fugitive.

Stay calm. Remember your meditation exercises. Relax. Focus. Deep breaths.

She pushed open the bathroom door. A patch of dark blue caught her eye. A uniformed cop--no, two cops--stood talking to the waitress. Cassie’s meditation exercises failed her. In fact, her deep breaths became short, ragged gasps for air as she began to hyperventilate. Her knees felt weak as water. Her vision blurred.

With lightning speed, she ducked back into the bathroom, locked the door, and leaned against it, hard.

Okay, forget the hot cocoa. No whipped cream, either.

“Come on, Cassie,” she whispered, through gritted teeth. “How are you
gonna
get out of this one?”

Probably they’d just come in for coffee and donuts. Did San Francisco cops eat donuts? Make that bagels, or maybe croissants. Something slightly more sophisticated.

Another high-pitched giggle escaped her throat. She had definitely crossed the line into hysteria.

Cassie believed in making lists. Whether she followed through or not, they made her feel more organized and in control. So--start with Step One.

Step One, get out of the restroom.

She’d have to brazen it out. Cassie unlatched the door, lifted her chin, and marched out into the diner. One of the cops turned to glance at her, then looked away. So far, so good. Maybe they weren’t after her yet.

But the man at the end of the counter, the one with the cowboy boots, was definitely watching her. She could feel his eyes boring a hole in her back as she pushed open the front door and stepped out into the cool air. San Francisco weather was always a few degrees colder than the rest of the Bay Area, and this May night was no exception.

Cassie threw a fearful glance over her shoulder. No one had followed her--not the policemen, not the cowboy. Now for Step Two. Except that she didn’t have the foggiest idea what Step Two might involve.

She couldn’t drive away in her own car. Too obvious.

A guy she’d known in the old neighborhood had once offered to teach her how to hot-wire a vehicle. Unfortunately, she hadn’t taken him up on the offer. Unless someone had left their keys in the ignition, she was out of luck.

Muni?
Caltrain
? BART? In the movies, fugitives rarely escape on public transit. Besides, she had the grand sum of $13 in her wallet, plus the assorted change at the bottom of her handbag. With that kind of cash, she’d be lucky if she made it to Fremont.

Walking wouldn’t take her far, either. She grimaced and glanced down at her shoes,
Ferragamos
she’d found at 40 percent off. A real steal. Unfortunately, the only pair left on the rack had been half a size too small. She’d already sprouted a monstrous blister on her big toe. So much for bargain hunting.

The clock was ticking. She scanned the parking lot. In the glow of the diner’s neon sign, she made out only three or four nondescript passenger cars, plus a battered baby-blue Chevy with a camper on the back. Nowhere to hide, unless--of course. She
scurried across the aspha
lt toward the pickup truck and
grabbed the metal handle above the tailgate.

Let it open. Please, let it open.

She tugged. It opened.

Cassie pulled herself up over the metal barrier and slithered ungracefully into the pickup. Her knee slammed against the tailgate, and she swallowed a pained exclamation as she landed on something soft. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside of the camper, she realized she was sitting on a mattress. Someone had fixed a bed back here, complete with an old patchwork quilt and a couple of pillows.

She crawled across the bed and peered into the cab of the truck. Something slammed into the glass. Cassie let out a shriek. The creature let out a series of short, sharp sounds, then shoved its dark face against the glass.

A dog. Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. It was the rattiest, hairiest, ugliest excuse for a dog she’d ever seen, but it was only a dog. To be exact, a medium-sized black-and-tan mutt with wiry terrier fur, floppy spaniel ears, and a pushed-in boxer’s nose.

Cassie flattened herself on the mattress and pulled one of the pillows over her head. As the dog kept right on barking, her heart hammered so hard it hurt. From where she lay, the sound was deafening. What if the cops heard and came to investigate?

“Shut up, you,” she whispered.

The dog whined and scraped its nails against the glass. Cassie didn’t have anything against canines. Usually. However, at this particular moment, she would have cheerfully turned the animal over to a dog catcher.

“Shut up, mutt,” she hissed. “I mean it.”

To her surprise, the dog obeyed. Well, maybe it didn’t actually hear her, but it did stop barking and settle down. Cassie stretched out on top of the quilt. Despite her fear, she was tired. Exhausted, really. She’d been running on pure adrenaline.

She needed to figure out Step Three. She’d think about it right after she closed her eyes for a minute. Maybe two minutes. Not a second longer than that. . . .

Back on the road, and out of the city at last, Jess let himself relax. He’d pried directions to the Bay Bridge out of a reluctant Tricia. Feeling flush thanks to the nice little purse he’d picked up at that morning’s rodeo, he’d even left her a generous tip. In the parking lot, though, he’d wadded up the napkin with her
cell
phone number on it and tossed it into the recycle bin. The brassy Tricia didn’t appeal to him. Besides, he still had that other woman on his mind, the first-class little sweetheart in the black dress.

Jess left his mystery woman far behind, though, as he headed north on Highway 5. His headlights skimmed the dark asphalt. The tires of his pickup hummed away beneath him. He rolled his window down, tuned the radio to a favorite country station, and sang along to an old Chris
LeDoux
song about a bunch of cowboys rolling down the highway on the way to a rodeo, a song about freedom and chasing dreams.

Once, Jess had thought that was just about the best life had to offer. Now he wasn’t so sure. He sighed and reached out to fondle the muzzle and floppy ears of the dog sitting on the truck’s passenger side. For his trouble, he got a palm full of slobber, which he wiped off on the thigh of his jeans.

“It’s just you and me now, Harry,” Jess said aloud.

Harry turned knowing black eyes on his master. “Just you and me,” Jess repeated. “We’re not doing so bad, are we, old pal?”

As if in answer, Harry whined and turned to paw at the window between the cab and the back of the pickup. The dog’s nails grated against the glass. Jess winced at the shivery sound. “Down, boy. What’s the hell’s gotten into you?”

Harry quit scratching, but his reproachful look told Jess that he’d somehow let his dog down. Jess sighed and turned up the radio. Some days he couldn’t do a damn thing right.

Take the woman in the diner. He ought to have gone after her and asked if she needed anything. Not money--from the looks of her, she had plenty of that. Still, rich kid or not, one glance told him she didn’t have a friend in the world. He could have offered her shoulder to cry on, and a pair of arms to hold her. Just that, nothing more.

He tried not to think about how soft her skin looked, or the way the fluorescent lights glinted off that mane of silky hair. Or how arousing he’d found that hint of a shadow between her breasts,
revealed by her dress’s deep V
neck.

Savagely, Jess cut off that line of thought. No use torturing himself. He didn’t even know her name. Probably his fantasies were his body’s way of reminding him that he’d been celibate too long. Maybe, after the main events tomorrow, he’d go dancing, celebrate, look around and see what happened.

For the past two years, since Danielle took off, he hadn’t been able to muster much interest in sex or its romantic trappings. But his Uncle Gus was right. Jess was still a young guy, too young to give up the chase and bury himself alone in a backwoods cabin.

The music and the night carried Jess and his rambling thoughts north, past Colusa and Willows and half a dozen other towns. Somewhere west of Chico, though, Jess’s eyelids began to drift down. The truck bounced a little as its tires hit the raised bumps marking off the right lane. Time to pull over and take a nap. A couple of hours and he would wake refreshed and ready to get on the road again.

Jess pulled off at an empty rest area, used the toilets, and let Harry have a romp in the grass. Then he whistled for the dog, propped open the back of the camper, and heaved himself over the tailgate. The moon was full, but little light filtered in through the camper’s grimy windows. He’d get a good sleep tonight. Jess flopped onto the mattress, stretched out--

And realized he was not alone.

Jess didn’t stop to ask questions. He tackled the shadowy figure, pinning the intruder’s arms against the quilt. Harry leapt into the pickup bed and, barking frantically, threw himself into the fray.

In spite of the chaos, Jess quickly realized one crucial and unexpected fact: his trespasser was female.

He knew for three simple reasons. First, in the tangle of limbs and flying fur, his hands encountered a pair of round, soft, very womanly breasts. Secondly, the resulting shriek of mingled outrage was too high-pitched for a man. And, finally, Jess’s nose was suddenly buried in a great deal of satiny hair, hair that smelled vaguely tropical. Kind of like rain and orchids.

She must use one of those botanical shampoos, he thought. Nice. Real nice.

Then reason reasserted itself, and he shouted for Harry to quit his racket. With one hand, he groped for the dog’s collar and hauled Harry away from the cowering woman. Harry backed up into a far corner of the camper, still growling low in his throat, while Jess rolled to the left and dug for the flashlight he kept in his toolbox. He clicked it on and aimed the full beam at the woman’s face.

Her eyes drew into slits against the sudden onslaught of light. She scrambled away from him and landed with a thud in the narrow space between the wheel well and the edge of the mattress, out of the flashlight’s beam. Still, Jess had seen enough.

He recognized that honey-colored hair. Ditto the frightened gray eyes, curvaceous figure, and livid bruise.

Faced with the woman he’d fantasized about for the last hundred or so miles, Jess found himself at a loss for words. Of course, he’d never been blessed with the gift of gab. He was the kind of a guy who said things straight out, without a lot of fancy talk. But now he couldn’t even manage that.

She spoke right up, though. No hesitation. “Hey,” she sputtered angrily. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Jess’s jaw dropped at the utter absurdity of her question. He frowned down at her until he finally found his tongue. “Your bed? Excuse me, ma’am, but I’d have to say this was my bed, last I checked.”