Catch Me a Cowboy (36 page)

If it had been anyone else asking the question, Shirlene might’ve been able to lie. But it was hard to lie to a woman she’d confided in for most of her life.

“Yes.” She snorted. “Which just goes to show you how screwed up I was after Lyle’s death. I probably would’ve fallen in love with just about anyone who gave me the time of day.”

“But you didn’t.” Hope stared back at her, her blue eyes all-knowing. “Are you just going to let him go?”

A tear trickled down Shirlene’s cheek, but she quickly brushed it away. “I don’t have another choice. I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life with a man I can’t trust as far as I can spit. I deserve better than that. And so do my kids.”

“I trust Billy.”

The softly spoken words had both women turning. Faith stood in the opening of the alley, her big eyes sincere and as watery as Shirlene’s.

“We all lie, Shirl,” Faith said as she moved closer. “I lied when I pretended to be Hope—first to the entire town and then to Slate. And Hope lied about doing well in Hollywood and her feelings for Colt. You even lied when you tried to keep everyone from finding out that you’d spent all of Lyle’s money. Not to forget all the lies you told to keep the Foster kids from being sent back to an abusive situation.”

Hope got to her feet. “I hate to say it, but my little sister’s got a point. We’re all willing to lie if the justification
is big enough. What matters is taking responsibility for our lies and doing what it takes to make things right. And Billy Cates has done a damned good job of making things right. Not only did he stop the kids from being hauled back to Houston, but he’s gone against his big brother and is making every effort to save Dalton Oil.”

A loud rumble drew their gazes to the street. And Shirlene watched as a monster truck drove past with flags flapping. But Billy didn’t even glance her way. His gaze was riveted on the road ahead.

A road that led away from Bramble… and her.

A sob broke free. And before Shirlene knew it, she was crying like Baby Adeline when she was forced to take a nap. Hope and Faith were at her side in an instant, but Shirlene wasn’t the type of woman who took sympathy well.

Holding up a hand, she spoke between sobs. “I’m okay, really. I just haven’t gotten very much sleep in the last couple days—what with Adeline cutting molars and Brody getting used to a new house.” She took a deep breath and released it before she sniffed back the tears and tried to send both women the most convincing smile she could.

“See, I’m just fine.” Her voice broke, and Faith blinked back her own tears while Hope studied Shirlene like a parasite under a microscope.

“Truth or Dare, Shirl?”

“What?” Shirlene stared at her friend in confusion.

“You know the game,” Hope said. “You’ve made me play it enough over the years. So answer the question, truth or dare?”

Shirlene sniffed. “You know I always choose dare, honey.”

Smiling, Hope took her hand and squeezed. “I also know you’ve never chickened out on a dare yet.”

“And never will,” she confirmed with a weak smile.

Suddenly Hope looked as close to tears as Faith. “So here’s your dare, Shirl. I dare you to go after what you want. You’ve always told me that people make their own happiness, so I dare you to make yours. I dare you to forget the past and concentrate on the future. I dare you to go after the man you love.”

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
, Billy pulled up in front of the southwestern-style home Slate Calhoun had built. With Beau only moments behind him, he didn’t waste any time climbing down from the truck and heading toward the double doors. But before he reached the small courtyard, he glanced over the stucco wall of the side yard and spotted a crumpled cowboy hat. Moving around to the gate, he slipped inside and was immediately greeted by Slate’s dog, Buster.

“Hey, boy, how you doin’?” Billy leaned over to scratch the dog’s ears as the black Labradoodle danced around his legs. He glanced up to see Slate leaning on a shovel in the shade of a cedar tree.

“You need something, Cates?” he asked.

Billy straightened, his eyes trained on the shovel. “A few seconds of your time would sure be appreciated.” When Slate only stared back at him, Billy took off his cowboy hat and rolled the brim through his hands. But the speech he’d planned on giving suddenly seemed windy and redundant. So he tried to condense it, and ended up sounding like the dumb country boy he was.

“Growing up, I never worked real hard at making friends. With four brothers, I always had plenty of people to play with.” Billy cleared his throat. “So I never knew what it was like to have a best buddy that wasn’t related—a buddy to complain about my crazy family to, or just talk about similar interests. I didn’t figure it out until it was too late—something I regret.”

Slate continued to stare at him, and Billy realized it was a lost cause. No stupid speech was going to make Slate forgive him. So he gave up on words and dug in his front pocket for the keys to the truck.

“Here.” He tossed the keys over to Slate who reached out and caught them. “Take care of her for me.” Tugging his hat back on, he headed to the gate.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Slate said.

By the time Billy turned, Slate had dropped the shovel and taken a few steps closer.

“You don’t want the truck?” Billy asked.

Slate pushed his crumpled straw cowboy hat up on his forehead. “No, I want the truck. But that’s not really what you’re talking about it, is it?”

Damn, maybe Billy didn’t want a best friend after all. He released his breath and rested his hands on his hips. “Fine. I’d sure appreciate it if you looked in on Shirlene for me from time to time.”

Slate quirked an eyebrow. “I could do that, but we both know that’s not what Shirlene needs. She doesn’t need a friend looking in on her. She needs a man who’ll be there for her night and day. For her and those kids.”

“You were there in town yesterday. She doesn’t want me.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t want the man who set out
to ruin Bramble.” Slate dusted his hands off on his jeans. “But she might want the man who decided to reorganize Dalton Oil and see if he can’t save it. The man who took care of the lien against her house. And the man who is pulling every string imaginable to make it possible for her to adopt those kids.”

Billy stared at him. “Who told you?”

“Colt.” Slate grinned. “He called your brother Brant to read him the riot act.”

“And how did Brant take that?” Billy couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the two stubborn men locking horns.

“Not well. It seems he’s a little perturbed with his brothers for outvoting him in the last shareholders’ meeting.” Slate shook his head. “I can understand you changing your mind about closing Dalton Oil, but how did you get your other brothers to go along with you? Even if your grandfather didn’t die in Bramble, it will still take a boatload of money to get Dalton back on its feet.”

“Beckett was easily bribed with the promise of a new custom chopper made by Desperado Customs—something I hope Colt will agree to. And Beau already likes Bramble. Or maybe I should say Shirlene.”

“So is Beau going to be the one who stays in Bramble and oversees the reorganization?” Slate asked.

“Not likely.”

“But you’re not.”

Billy’s smile dropped. “No. I think Bramble needs someone they can trust.”

“They trust you, Billy.” Slate stared off at the miles of open space behind the house before he looked back. “And as crazy as it is, so do I.”

The sound of tires rolling over the gravel had Billy glancing back at the driveway. He swallowed hard. “I can’t live here without her.”

Slate studied him for only a few seconds before he stepped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “So take care of yourself, man.”

“You do the same.” Billy nodded. “And I expect you to keep me posted about that genius kid of yours—and your mediocre football team.”

“Shiiit.” Slate followed him out the gate with Buster on his heels. “You wish your team was as mediocre.” He stood in the driveway and watched as Billy climbed into the rental SUV. Beau had already started backing out when Slate yelled.

“You are my friend, Billy Cates, and you better damned well not forget it.”

Billy spent the rest of the day at Dalton Oil, going over the plans for restructuring. By the time he got back to the trailer, he was dead in his boots. He probably should’ve spent his last night in west Texas at the same motel Beau was staying in. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. If this was to be his last night, he wanted to spend it here.

He pulled the rental SUV into the lot and turned off the ignition. For a few moments, he just sat there, staring at the beat-up trailer. It was funny. But the first few times he’d stayed in the pile of aluminum siding, he’d been more than happy to leave it behind. Now he felt a deep sadness. And maybe it wasn’t the trailer he would miss as much as his neighbors.

His gaze shifted over to the hedge, and he opened the
door and got out. It was a short distance to the ground. Much shorter than the stretch it took to get out of his old truck. He already missed the stupid thing. Maybe he’d buy himself another one when he returned to Dogwood. Although none would carry the memories of a sexy redhead in turquoise stilettos or a sassy Daisy Duke in cut-off jeans.

The lot next door looked completely different than it had a few weeks earlier. All of the junk had been cleared away, and the only things in the yard were a small plastic kiddie pool and the old Chevy. Billy had planned on having the antique car towed to Dogwood for Brant, but now he wondered if he shouldn’t just leave it right where it sat. The car belonged here as much as the elm tree that grew next to it. As much as the old junk that had once filled the yard.

As much as Shirlene.

Just her name made his stomach cramp and his heart beat faster. And for a second, he visualized her in the yard hanging clothes, or chasing after Sherman, or playing with the kids. He thought about climbing the steps of the trailer and taking one last look inside. But he didn’t think his heart could take it, so he turned and walked back to his trailer.

Leaving the lights off, he made his way to the bedroom. He tossed his cowboy hat to the top of the chest of drawers and had just reached for the top snap of his western shirt when he heard the distinctive click of a gun hammer being pulled back. For a split second, he wondered if he’d underestimated the people of Bramble and if he would end up just like his great-grandpappy. The possibility seemed even more likely when he turned to see the shadowy outline of the woman standing in one corner.

A woman holding a very big gun.

“I guess that’s not Brody’s cap gun,” Billy stated as he tried to keep his heart from bumping out of his chest. And it had nothing to do with the deadly weapon pointed at him.

“Nope.” Shirlene stepped closer, and Billy wondered if a heart attack was possible at thirty-four. He had thought she looked good in cut-offs and his shirts but it was nothing compared to how she looked in the slinky black dress and red high heels. Every drop of moisture evaporated out of his mouth as she stopped in front of him, her scent enveloping him like a steamy wave of east Texas humidity. The moonlight that filtered in through the window glistened off the ripe cherry of her full lips.

“So finish,” she said, her breath falling hot against the skin of his throat.

It took more than a few seconds to find his voice. “Excuse me?”

“The clothes.” She waggled the gun inches from the fly of his jeans. “Finish taking them off.”

He narrowed his eyes. “If we’re reenacting
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
, shouldn’t I be the one with the gun?”

“Let’s just say that history repeats itself.” She sat down on the bed and leaned back on one elbow, the slinky material of the dress riding up on her thighs. “Slowly. Snap by pearl snap.”

About a million questions raced through his mind, but Billy wasn’t born with corn mush for brains. If a beautiful woman asks you to strip—you strip. Except stripping for a woman was a lot harder than Billy expected. Or maybe what was hard was doing it for a woman who held your
entire world in her hands. His heart was thumping to beat the band, and his hands shook as badly as Moses Tate’s. With fingers that felt like bratwurst sausages, he struggled to get even one snap undone. Frustrated, he jerked too hard, and the entire front of the shirt popped open.

“Do you understand the word slow, Cowboy?”

He might’ve come back with a clever quip if she hadn’t crossed those mile-long legs. She swung a sexy stiletto, pulling his gaze to the toes that matched her lipstick.

“Or maybe your problem isn’t speed as much as finesse,” she said with a waggle of the gun. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to blindside a woman with love words in front of an entire town?”

The air left his lungs, and his Adam’s apple took a ride up and down his throat. “I guess she never got around to it, seeing as how I’ve only said those words to one woman.”

“And what about all those women who wanted a tour of Wilkesville?”

Normally, he would’ve candy-coated the truth. But lying was no longer an option. “I can’t tell you I wasn’t willing to give tours. I just wasn’t willing to invite them to live there.”