Catch Me a Cowboy (10 page)

Shirlene pulled her gaze away from all that hot, manly flesh and over to where Sherman wandered down to the
muddy edge of the water, looking for any dropped picnic foods.

“Do you have my wallet?” she asked.

He removed the hat from his face and, lifting his head, squinted back at her. “That’s as good of a lie as you could come up with? Lord have mercy, woman, your mama didn’t teach you any man-catchin’ skills at all.”

Shirlene shot him an exasperated look. “Just answer the question. Did you find my wallet on the front steps this morning or didn’t you?”

Bubba’s gaze wandered over her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her painted toes. “You might want to start with a change of clothing. There’s nothin’ wrong with a little sweat, but I prefer women who bathe and put on clean clothes at least every other day.”

With a groan of frustration, Shirlene flopped down on the sandy soil and rested her head in her hands. What had she been thinking? The man couldn’t count to ten without starting over. He certainly wasn’t observant enough to notice a woman’s wallet. But he had been her last resort, the thin thread she clung to after Mia the Sullen and Jesse the Delinquent had denied knowing anything about her wallet and credit cards.

Of course, what did she expect from a bunch of little hooligans?

“Now don’t be gettin’ all teary eyed.” Bubba sat up and hooked an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve been known to overlook a little bad hygiene if the woman has certain skills—”

She elbowed him hard in the stomach, although it appeared to hurt her more than it did him. “Would you please spare me your pathetic hillbilly charm? I have
enough to worry about without listening to your idiotic talk.”

Flashing her that dopey smile, he rolled to his feet and walked over to his fishing pole. He reeled in the line and checked the bait before he recast and sat down on the rock, his long, bare feet braced on the ground.

“So you lost your wallet, did you?”

“More like stolen by that little redheaded demon.”

Billy chuckled. “That kid is a pistol.”

She glared over at him. “It figures you’d think so.”

“So what did their mama say?”

Shirlene slipped her shoes off and cuffed her jeans. “She didn’t come home. And after an hour of being stared at by Jesse and Mia, I decided to check back later.”

“Later being a couple months down the road?”

She glanced over at him, and her forehead furrowed. Sometimes the man surprised her. She didn’t plan on stopping back by. She’d had enough of Grover Road to last her a lifetime. Of course, she’d let the Fosters continue to live in her trailer. But someone else would have to check up on them. Someone like Faith or Hope. Someone who didn’t feel as if they’d been kicked in the stomach every time that sweet, little baby turned those big, blue eyes on them.

“What do you know about their mama?”

Bubba’s words filtered into her thoughts, and she turned to find him staring out at the water that glistened in the sun.

“Not much,” she said. “I hear she holds down two jobs, which is probably why she’s never at home.” A trickle of sweat rolled down her brow, and she wiped it off with her wrist. Shooting a glance over at Bubba, she flipped open a couple buttons on her blouse.

“You think she’s abusive?” he asked.

“I don’t know, although neglect is just as abusive as physical brutality.”

His gaze snapped over to her. And even though she couldn’t see his eyes in the shadow of the hat brim, she couldn’t help fidgeting.

“But you’re right, something’s wrong,” she said. “Even after I made it clear that they can continue to live there rent free, Mia still looked nervous.”

“Maybe she doesn’t trust you.” Bubba reeled in his line. “You have to admit you look a little untrustworthy.”

“Untrustworthy?” She snorted. “I look a hell of a lot more trustworthy than a stranger from east Texas.”

“Not to someone from Grover Road.” His head dipped, and she followed his gaze down to her fingers and the diamond that flashed in the sunlight.

She slipped her hands between her knees. “Money doesn’t make you untrustworthy.”

“It does to a bunch of kids who don’t have two dimes to rub together. To them, you’re the kid on the playground who ended up with a big slice of watermelon when all they got were the seeds. The fickleness of fate tends to make people suspicious.”

Shirlene stared at him. “The fickleness of fate?”

He grinned. “I read it in a comic. It sounds good, don’t it?”

It sounded as ridiculous as Bubba, but it certainly made sense. Why should the kids trust her when she had everything they didn’t? When she had busted into a place they thought of as their home as if she owned it. Okay, so maybe she did own it, but that didn’t mean she had the right to look down her nose at the kids. Had she spent
so much time in her rich little bubble that she couldn’t remember what it was like to be poor and scared?

“So what do you think I should do?” She didn’t know why she asked Bubba the question. Possibly because she didn’t have anyone else to ask, and because, in the last few minutes, he hadn’t seemed like such a dumb redneck. Although when a long silence followed, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. After she sat there for a while watching the setting sun reflect off the water, he finally spoke.

“I think you should go back and talk with their mama and offer them a place to live until they get on their feet. Their mama can either take you up on the offer, or not. But at least you’ve done your best.”

His answer made her feel better. And after a while of watching Bubba stand there fishing, she lay back on the cool earth and closed her eyes. Except a funny thing happened; even with her eyes closed, she could still see Bubba standing there. She could still see the way his dark brown hair curled around the brim of his hat and the stubble that covered his square jaw. She could see the rounded bulge of his bicep as he cast the fishing line and the hard ripples of his stomach as he reeled it in.

Then suddenly, that wasn’t all she could see. Gone was the western shirt with its ripped off sleeves and the wranglers with the faded circle on the back pocket from his can of chewing tobacco, and there stood Wilkesville in all its splendor.

It was a sight for sore eyes. A sight Shirlene allowed herself to indulge in for more than a few minutes. Which was why she almost jumped out of her skin when Bubba yelled.

“I caught one!”

Sitting straight up, she slapped a hand over her thumping
heart. She looked over at Bubba, relieved to find him still dressed. Still dressed but struggling to reel in whatever was on the other end of the line.

“Don’t just sit there, woman,” he hollered. “Grab the net!”

Shirlene had never taken orders well, but his excitement had her making an exception. She jumped up and searched around until she found the net. She had never cared much for fishing, so once she had the net, she wasn’t real sure what to do with it.

“Bring it over here,” he instructed. “Be ready. It feels like a big one.” His biceps flexed as he pulled back on the fishing pole that bowed under the weight of the fish on the other end.

She leaned out over the edge of the bank, not knowing what to expect. But it sure wasn’t the big muddy running shoe that came out of the water so fast she barely had time to duck. Unfortunately, she didn’t think about the return trip, and the shoe swung back and clocked her between her shoulder blades, knocking her off the bank and straight into the water.

And fishing wasn’t the only thing Shirlene didn’t much care for.

Water filled her nose like ribbons of fire as she tried to fight her way to the surface. Her head popped up for only a second before she went back under. But a second was all it took to hear Bubba’s hysterical laughter. She might’ve been mad at the dumb hick who stood there laughing while she drowned, but death had a way of keeping a person focused. And while she struggled to get back to the surface, she hedged her bets.

Forgive me, Lord, for stealing my mama’s cigarettes and smoking them out behind the trailer.

And for sneaking out to meet Tom Riley—and for
letting Tom get to third base without a wedding ring. And for putting the live ammo in Hope’s prop gun during our high school performance of
Annie Get Your Gun.

And for not attending church, even on Christmas and Easter.

And for—

A band of steel curled around her waist and lifted her out of the water. But even after breaking the surface, she still wondered if she might die. Her chest, throat, and nose burned, and she couldn’t seem to stop coughing.

“Lord have mercy, woman,” Bubba’s voice broke through her attempt to get air. “Who taught you how to swim?”

She sagged against his solid chest and waited for him to swim to shore. But instead, he lifted her up in his arms and walked there.

“Three feet of water,” he mumbled as he trudged up the bank. “And she was going to drown.”

If Shirlene could’ve talked, she would’ve questioned his measurement. There was no way she almost drowned in three feet of water. Bubba had to be taller than she thought. And much stronger. He carried her as if she weighed no more than Hope or Faith.

He laid her down on the thick buffalo grass beneath the cedar tree and then knelt over her. His cool fingers brushed her forehead, smoothing her wet, matted hair from her face.

When she looked up, Bubba was close. Too close. The hat was gone, and his wavy hair fell over his high forehead in sweat-dampened ringlets, framing a set of clear brown eyes that looked filled with concern. Although his next words didn’t reflect that.

“Please tell me I need to perform some of that mouth-to-mouth?”

When she shook her head, his look of disappointment was almost laughable.

“You sure know how to deflate a feller, Ms. Dalton. Especially one who just saved your life.”

She coughed a couple more times. “I thought it was only three feet of water.”

He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. “And you were drowning in it.”

“Because I can’t swim.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Can you stand?”

It was a good question. A ridiculously good question. And Shirlene couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her thrashing around in a couple feet of water like a bass on a hook. A laugh escaped her—followed by another—and another, until she was laughing so hard tears escaped her eyes and her stomach hurt. How long had it been since she had laughed like this? Not the chuckles she gave her friends and townsfolk to prove that she wasn’t still hurting for her dead husband, but the kind of out-and-out laughter that made a person realize that life still held humor. That life was still worth living.

Somewhere along the line, Bubba joined in, his deep laughter a perfect complement to hers. Shirlene didn’t know how long they laughed. Seconds or minutes, it was just enough. They sobered at the same time and were left staring at one another with satisfied smiles.

“Thank you,” she said. When his head cocked in confusion, she quickly added, “For saving my life in three feet of water.” Her gaze dropped to his drenched jeans. “And for getting all wet in the process.”

“We both look like a couple of drowned rats, don’t we?” he teased as his gaze wandered down. Just that quickly, the smile slipped from his firm lips.

Shirlene glanced down, and her own smile dropped. It seemed that while she had been drowning in three feet of water, the buttons of her blouse had come undone, revealing a full-figure bra that wasn’t even close to being full-figured enough to cover the mounds of flesh that pressed against its transparent pink lace.

“O-oops” she stammered, trying to make light of the embarrassing situation as she tugged the edges of her shirt closed. But when she glanced back up, Bubba’s gaze was still pinned to her breasts, almost as if he was imagining her as she’d imagined him—dressed in nothing but a birthday suit.

When he finally did lift his gaze, it wasn’t any better. His deep, brown eyes were steamed up like two cups of hot cocoa. And Shirlene had always been partial to cocoa. And to men who didn’t ask permission—who just took what they wanted. Without a by-your-leave, Bubba’s head dipped, and those lips scorched hers.

He had either gotten some practice since that morning, or he was more of an afternoon-delight kind of guy. Because this was no sloppy, puppy kiss like he’d given her in his trailer. This was more of a sizzling, expert manipulation of tongue and mouth that left Shirlene slightly dazed and completely convinced that she’d been wrong.

Her sex drive hadn’t died with Lyle. It was right there simmering in her belly like a pot ready to boil over. And she wanted it to boil over—to boil over, and catch fire, and burn down the entire kitchen. Especially when Bubba’s hand settled over her breast and those long, lean fingers stoked the flame to unbelievable heights.

Things were just getting heated up when Sherman came over and plopped down in the shade next to Shirlene, snuffling and snorting over something he’d found. With the mood broken, Bubba pulled back and stared down at her as if he didn’t know who she was or how she’d gotten there. He had a good point. How had she gotten there? One minute she was fighting for her life, and the next, she was kissing Bubba Wilkes. And not just kissing—she glanced down at his hand on her breast—but desiring. That was what really freaked her out. There had to be at least a million eligible men in the state of Texas, and she had chosen a womanizing, tobacco-chewing redneck to light her stove.