Catch Me a Cowboy (6 page)

“My husband, Lyle Dalton, was into oil,” she said, pronouncing the word like any true Texan—“awl.”

His gaze dropped, and he smoothed out the brim of his hat. “I was sure sorry to hear about his death, ma’am.” A strained silence followed before he finally spoke. “I hate to cast aspersions on your pet, but is that a pig?”

She glanced down at the pig, which had given up on finding anything to eat and was now scratching his ears against the leg of a chair. “Sherman.”

Beau didn’t hesitate to kneel down and help the pig out by giving him a good scratch behind his floppy ears, which earned him Sherman’s immediate devotion and Shirlene’s immediate like. Too bad old Reggie came out and rained on her happy parade.

“Ms. Dalton, I’m afraid your account in Austin had insufficient funds—” His beady eyes shot down to Beau. “Oh, good morning, sir, I didn’t realize you were here.” He straightened the lapels of his ill-fitting gray suit. “Let me just show Ms. Dalton out, and I’ll be right with you.”

Beau stood back up. “No hurry.” He nodded at the row of chairs. “I’ll just make myself comfortable while you help this pretty lady.”

“Of course, sir.” But when Mr. Peabody turned back
to her, he didn’t look all that pleased to be helping her. And if the truth was known, Shirlene wasn’t that pleased to have her dirty laundry aired in front of a handsome stranger. Even if that stranger had sat down and appeared to be preoccupied with his cell phone.

“Insufficient funds? I’m sure there’s been some kind of mistake.” Shirlene accepted the check with as much dignity as she could muster. “Just how much do I owe in back payments?” When he told her the amount, she thought she might pass out. “You’ve got to be kiddin’.”

Mr. Peabody shook his head. “With penalties and interest, that’s exactly the amount.”

“Then I guess I’ll need to speak to your boss, Reggie.” She tried to flash another smile, but it fizzled when Mr. Peabody spoke.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Ms. Dalton. Mr. Cates is on vacation.”

“Mr. Cates? As in one of the owners of C-Corp?”

“That would be the one.” The man smiled smugly.

Shirlene knew the Cates brothers had bought Dalton Oil. She just hadn’t realized they had bought the bank as well. “I’m sure Mr. Cates wouldn’t mind speaking with the wife of Lyle Dalton—vacation or no vacation.”

Mr. Peabody shook his head. “He left express instructions not to be bothered until next week.”

“So that’s it?” She hit a high note that had Beau glancing over. She lowered her voice, but her temper still sizzled. “You’re just going to throw a poor widow woman out on the streets?”

Mr. Peabody’s beady eyes wandered down to the three-carat diamond on her finger. “I’m sure you won’t be out on the streets, Ms. Dalton.”

That violent feeling reared its ugly head again, and she really wanted to shove the diamond straight up the snooty little bugger’s nose. But instead she reached out and patted him on the bald head. “Hang on to that title, honey, because I’ll be back.” Lifting a hand, she waved at Beau. “Nice meetin’ you.” Then with a tug on the leash, she swept out the door.

The sun had inched higher in the sky. Heat already rose from the sidewalk in suffocating waves. At least it felt suffocating to Shirlene as she strode back to her Navigator. All it would take was one telephone call to her brother, and she would be back in her house by sundown—one quick call and she’d be sitting on her opulent white couch with a margarita in one hand and a remote in the other.

Except no matter how wonderful the image was, she couldn’t bring herself to grab her cell phone. Partly because she never liked to eat crow, and partly because she hated disappointing Colt. In the last few months, she’d done her best to convince him that his wild, impulsive sister had grown into a strong, independent woman who could handle her own finances—and the death of a husband. Too bad it was all a lie. A lie she wasn’t ready to own up to. At least, not yet.

“Ms. Dalton!”

The sexy drawl stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to see Beau hurrying toward her, his long-legged strut eating up the sidewalk.

When he reached her, she cocked her head. “Did I forget something?”

“Yes,” his smile almost blinded her, “my invitation to dinner.” She opened her mouth to decline the offer. But before she could, he held up a hand. “Now it wouldn’t be
like a date—more like a charitable woman helping out a stranger that doesn’t know a soul in town.”

She laughed. “A charitable woman? Honey, you don’t know me at all.”

The smile faded. “I’d like to change that.”

She had to give it to Beau, he was charming. Still, she didn’t have time for cute young cowboys. Except before she could decline, her stomach growled.

Beau’s eyebrows shot up, along with his smile. “Should we make that breakfast, Ms. Dalton?” He glanced over at Josephine’s Diner, where it looked like the entire town was standing in the windows, watching them.

Shirlene waved at the townsfolk, realizing she wouldn’t make it back to her Navigator without half of them stopping her. And she wasn’t in the mood to dodge all their questions.

She turned to Beau. “There’s this little truck stop right outside of town that serves up a mean flat-iron steak and eggs.”

Beau winked. “Now how did you know I was the steak-and-eggs kind of guy?”

“Possibly because I’m a steak-and-eggs kind of woman.”

He tipped back his head and laughed before he held out an arm. “Ms. Dalton, I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

Shirlene slipped her arm through his. “I think you might be right, Beau.”

They were still smiling at one another when a loud rumbling broke their eye contact. Having heard the noise before, Shirlene wasn’t even fazed by the large monster truck that rolled into view. Its big, black, deep-treaded
tires ate up the asphalt as the flags fluttered out behind the cab. The mud-splattered chrome grill grew closer, and the truck slowed down, giving them both an unobstructed view of the man who slouched in the driver’s seat.

The stupid-looking redneck in a camouflage John Deere hat sat behind the wheel. A hat with a brim so curled it almost came full circle. As he passed, he lifted the bare arm that stuck out of the ripped-off sleeve of his shirt in a greeting Shirlene completely ignored.

“A friend of yours?” Beau asked.

Shirlene watched the truck with its offensive bumper stickers rumble into the parking lot of Josephine’s Diner.

“Not even close, honey. Not even close.”

B
ILLY WASN’T IN THE BEST OF MOODS
when he walked through the door of the bright pink train caboose that served as Josephine’s Diner. He needed a cup of coffee badly, something it didn’t look like he was going to get any time soon. Not with the waitress, and every person in the diner, crammed up against the glass of the front windows. With their attention focused elsewhere, he took the time to observe the group of townsfolk. He couldn’t remember all their names but there were a few he couldn’t forget.

Like Harley Sutter, the town mayor, with his handlebar mustache and huge belly that sagged over his belt buckle. Sheriff Sam Winslow in his stiff, khaki uniform shirt with the shiny star and so many law enforcement gadgets attached to his black belt that it turned his jeans to hip-huggers. Rachel Dean, a big-boned waitress with hands that could easily palm a basketball and a flirty tongue that could make a man feel ten feet tall. Twyla, who ran the local beauty shop and dated Kenny Gene—the skinny black cowboy who rarely stopped talking long enough to
take a breath and who had become Billy’s main source for information since arriving in Bramble.

Kenny glanced over and noticed Billy first. A wide smile creased his face.

“Hey, Bubba!”

Everyone turned and the room erupted in warm greetings, although no one seemed to be in a hurry to leave the window.

“I thought you’d still be busy with that gal you picked up at Bootlegger’s last night,” Kenny said, but before Billy could even open his mouth to answer, Twyla chimed in.

“Bootlegger’s! You went to Bootlegger’s last night? I thought you went straight home, Kenny Gene Guthrie.”

“I did go home, sugar,” Kenny defended himself. “It was this mornin’ that I saw Bubba. Sonofagun already got himself a woman. A big ol’ blond gal from the looks—”

“Would you two shut up?” Cindy Lynn glared at Kenny Gene with eyes that were coated with more makeup than a television evangelist’s wife. “I’m tryin’ to concentrate on what Shirlene is doin’ with the new stranger in town.”

Billy glanced out the window and his brow knotted.

“Well, it ain’t that hard to figure out.” Rachel Dean wiped her big man-hands on the soiled apron tied around her waist. “It looks like Shirlene has decided to come out of mournin’. And who better to do it with than a handsome cowboy?”

Sheriff Winslow spoke up. “Shirlene shore does go for the older men. Look at the gray hair on that one.”

“Age is a matter of mind,” Rachel stated. “If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”

“Well, I don’t think we should be worried about the man’s age as much as his moral integrity,” Harley Sutter
said. “We can’t just have some stranger wander into town and take off with our womenfolk.”

“He ain’t no stranger,” Kenny Gene said. “I just got finished talkin’ to him in front of the pharmacy and he told me his name was Beauregard Williams from Houston.”

“Did he tell you what he’s doin’ here?” Harley asked.

“Nope, but he shore is interested in the town. Must’ve asked a hun-nerd questions.”

Rachel turned to Harley with a worried look. “You don’t think C-Corp brought him in to lay more people off, do you?”

“I sure hope not. We’re already strugglin’ to find jobs for the people who got laid off before Lyle sold the company.”

“Isn’t Colt’s business gonna help with that?” Twyla asked.

Before Harley could answer, Billy took the opportunity given him. “Slate was tellin’ me somethin’ about that. Some feller named Colt Lomax is startin’ up a company?”

“Shore is,” Sheriff Winslow said. “Buildin’s goin’ up right next to Jones’s Garage.”

“No kiddin’.” Billy tipped his head. “And just what kind of business is it?”

The townsfolk glanced at each other with confused looks until Kenny’s best friend, Rye Pickett, spoke up.

“I think it has somethin’ to do with choppers.”

“Like them choppers on QVC that dice onions without tears?” Rachel Dean asked. “Because I bought one of those things once, and it don’t work a’tall—I still bawl my eyes out.”

“Not those kind of choppers, woman,” Rossie Owens, the owner of Bootlegger’s Bar, enlightened Rachel.
“We’re talkin’ the kind of motorcycles with the long forks and big handlebars—Desperado Customs is what Colt calls it.”

The name took Billy by surprise. Anyone with any interest in motorcycles knew of Desperado Customs. It wasn’t a fly-by-night operation. Desperado made custom bikes for the rich and famous. A business like that would employ a number of people.

He shook his head. “C-Corp. A new motorcycle shop. Pretty soon Bramble will be as big as Houston, and I’ll have to find another small town to do my huntin’ and fishin’ in.”

A concerned look entered the eyes of the townspeople before the mayor spoke up. “Now I wouldn’t go that far, Bubba. A few new businesses won’t turn us into a big city.”

“A few?”

Harley nodded. “Colt and Hope think we need a few more if we want to have enough jobs to support our town. ’Course they haven’t had much time to pursue other companies, what with little Daffodil’s birth and all.”

“Cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” Twyla gushed.

Rachel shot her a shocked look. “Cuter than our little Daisy? Why, shame on you, Twyla. You know full well that Faith and Slate’s baby is just as cute as Colt and Hope’s. In fact, they look as identical as Faith and Hope do.”

While Twyla looked duly chastised, Billy tried to steer the conversation back to the subject he was most interested in.

Pulling his hat off, he scratched his head. “I guess I’m just a dumb ol’ country boy, but I don’t quite understand
why y’all need other businesses when C-Corp took over Dalton Oil?”

Harley grinned at Billy as if it
was
the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Because Colt and Hope don’t think we should have all our eggs in one basket—or depend on oil to keep Bramble afloat.”

Billy snorted. “Not depend on oil?” He held up a hand. “Now, I don’t mean to be puttin’ my nose into other people’s business, but isn’t askin’ Texans not to depend on oil a little like askin’ a kite not to depend on the wind?” He shrugged. “I mean, isn’t crude what Texas was built on?”

A multitude of eyes squinted in thought until finally Harley spoke up.

“Bubba’s right. Why are we lookin’ elsewhere when we’ve got plenty of oil right in our own backyard?”

Rachel Dean nodded. “Oil has sure done right by us.”

“Shore has,” the sheriff agreed.

“Well, there she goes,” Kenny said, drawing everyone’s gaze back to the window as the rental SUV drove past with Shirlene and the pig sitting in the passenger’s seat.