Texas Hold 'Em (18 page)
He tightened his arms and cradled her closer. “Can you stand being known as the sheriff in love with the biker?”
“Can you stand being known as the biker who fell for the sheriff?”
“I can handle anything, as long as I know we’ll end up together when this is all over.” He covered her lips with his and kissed her over and over, leaving no question that he meant every word. “You’re right, Rose. Together is the only way we can end up because you’ve got my heart—the heart of the man I used to be, and the heart of the man I am—in your hands.”
“I’ll keep your heart safe,” she promised. With a soft smile, she brought his head down to hers and kissed him again, her hands knitting in his hair. “But when this is over, you’re not getting it back. That heart belongs to me—now and forever.”
Follow the Cowboy
The west Texas sky looked endless overhead, pinpricks of starlight decorating the vast darkness for as far as Kingston Landry could see. His horse picked his way through the scrub brush with confidence. She knew every inch of his ranch better than he did. The midnight ride was a ritual they’d shared over the years, and lately, he had needed it more and more. Sometimes he needed it to clear his head, sometimes he needed it for entertainment. More often than not, he needed it to escape the demons that seemed to follow him everywhere except out here.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The terrors had been closer to him than ever before in the days following the arrest of Juan Enrique. He didn’t give a tinker’s damn about the drug dealer. But seeing the trail of destruction Enrique had left behind had made him realize something important—there were people he loved, and some of them might die if he didn’t act soon.
If he’d still been in Washington DC, he would have washed away the hollowness with a bottle of Jack and a woman he didn’t know. Waking up in the morning with a hangover, he would have successfully pushed the feelings away, at least temporarily. He was tempted to handle this the same way, but things had changed. He couldn’t permit himself that kind of selfish response now. His goal wouldn’t let him.
They went another hundred yards before the horse stutter-stepped abruptly, almost unseating him. Tightening his thighs and pulling lightly on the reins, he spoke softly, trying to reassure the animal. “Whoa, girl, hang on. What’s the problem?”
The horse answered with an uneasy snort, dancing to the right. He wrapped the leather reins tighter around his fingers and stared intently at the path ahead. Everything looked like it always did. Dried grass, skeletal scrub brush, rocks jutting here and there in the thin light of a fingernail moon. The nighttime sounds that echoed around him were nothing out of the ordinary, either. The scratching of smaller animals running over the gravely dirt, the wind whistling through a cedar tree, the dry ticking of the cicadas here and there—everything seemed peaceful and quiet. But the horse hopped again, this time almost rearing, her disquiet obviously growing.
King had come across a drug courier not too long ago, running through one of the arroyos near the back of the ranch. He’d arrested the man and thrown him in jail but he’d posted bail, then disappeared. It wouldn’t surprise King if he’d returned. Or sent one of his buddies to use the same ravine. Once the mules found a route they liked, they tended to stick with it. They usually gave a blown path a little more time before returning to it, though.
On the other hand, something else—someone else—entirely different could be to blame. If that was the case, he needed to know. It meant he didn’t have as much time left as he thought he did.
The horse tossed her head and snorted. Before she could pitch him off, he brought the animal around and trotted her back the way they’d come. Tying her to a skinny mesquite, he walked back and wondered what was going on. She was a steady mare and he’d had her for years. Something had clearly spooked her.
King only pulled his weapon if he intended to use it. For reasons he didn’t yet understand, something told him that’s what he must do. He eased the pistol from its holster and edged forward, his Glock held in a two-handed grip pointed upward.
He was halfway down the ravine when he heard a low growl. A sudden movement to his left caught his eye, and he swung around quickly, bringing the weapon down. Two coyotes, scrabbling over a scrap of cloth, froze as they saw him. They were only pups, and they’d been at it for a bit. Loose soil was scattered all over the open ground, and broken limbs hung from the nearby bushes.
Some of the larger rocks even looked as though they’d been turned over during the disturbance, the animals’ claws leaving telltale slashes. His eyes went back to the pups. Their muzzles were dark, covered with something wet and sticky. The rag they were pulling apart was wet-looking, too. Noses quivering, they took off running, their loping grace carrying them into the desert night. The smell hit King a moment after that.
He cursed, and swept the arroyo with his eyes, first one way and then the other. Frozen in place, the darkness whispering around him, he waited silently. Nothing else moved or made any noise. Even the cicadas fell silent as if waiting to see what happened next. Finally he decided he was alone, and resumed his progress to the spot where the animals had been fighting, the scrub brush pulling at his pant leg. If he’d been a fanciful man he might have thought it was trying to hold him back. If he’d still been a drunk, he might have thought it really was.
He stopped beside the coyotes’ prize and bent down to take a closer look. Rips up and down the fabric bore the animals’ tooth marks, but it was easy to tell it had been the sleeve of a dark green shirt. Black plastic buttons gleamed in the waning moonlight, and part of a cuff was still visible. A tattered scrap of fabric above the buttons flapped gently in the wind. The edge looked as though it’d been dipped in something dark and tacky. It could have been wood glue or maybe even honey, but he knew it wasn’t.
It was blood.
Leaving a dark trail behind them, the pups had dragged the material over the rocky soil from a place a dozen yards away. The path they’d taken was clear in the dim light, their paw prints muddying the way. He straightened and followed their trail. Behind him, he could hear the horse restlessly pawing at the ground, still nervous. His steps took him up the ridge and over a rocky stretch of barren desert. A low snarl brought him up short.
The pair of pups he’d seen had been routed from the real treasure and reduced to dragging away the leftovers. The true winner stood before him. Bristling with defensiveness, his snout still dripping, a much larger coyote glared at him with snapping eyes, the fur bristling along his back as he guarded his acquisition. A low growl started somewhere deep inside its chest and worked its way out, the animal baring its teeth as the sound escaped its throat.
He could have shot the animal and put an end to the confrontation, but he didn’t believe in that sort of thing. The coyotes had been in these parts a helluva lot longer than humans, and besides, they were generally harmless. At least toward people.
Holstering his weapon, King threw his hands into the air and flapped them at the coyote, stomping in the dirt and yelling “scat” half a dozen times before the animal followed the younger ones into the dark. When he was sure the coyote was really gone, he took a closer step and squatted in the dirt.
The head’s dead eyes stared back.
The rest of the body was nowhere in sight.
To be continued…
November, 2013
Follow the Cowboy
by Kay David
About the Author
Kay David is the author of over thirty romantic suspense novels and holds degrees in behavioral psychology, computer science, and English literature. She has lived extensively overseas in exotic locales, including the Middle East and Latin America, but currently splits her time between Houston and Florida with her husband Pieter and her two Bengals, Jake and Elwood. Reading is her passion, and when she isn’t remodeling homes, running her business, or traveling, you’ll find her hidden in her sunroom with a stack of books and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
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