Catch Me a Cowboy (7 page)

“You want me to do a background check, mayor?” Sheriff Winslow asked. “The man could have a record.”

“No foolin’,” Kenny Gene said. “If I’da known that, I’da asked for his autograph. ’Course, they ain’t called records no more, Sam. They’re called CDs.”

The sheriff looked completely exasperated. “Damn, son, if you want the position as my on-call deputy, you’re gonna have to use that brain God gave you. I’m not talkin’ about a music record. I’m talkin’ about a criminal record—a legal document that lists every offense a person has.” He looked over at the mayor. “Or I could bring him in for questioning?”

Harley shook his head. “No, let’s wait and see what the man’s up to first. But we’ll need to keep a close eye on him, especially if he’s set his sights on Shirlene.”

“I won’t have a problem durin’ the day,” Sam said. “But Myra expects me home by six for dinner.”

“I can take the late shift, sheriff,” Kenny jumped in.

After a full minute of indecision, Harley slapped Kenny on the back. “Give it your best, son. Remember, you’re protectin’ our little Shirlene.” He hitched up his pants. “Welp, I better get back to work if we want a Founder’s Day to remember.”

There was a grumbling of agreement as the townsfolk moved toward the door.

Once the diner cleared out, Billy flipped over his coffee cup and waited for Rachel to fill it. It didn’t take her long. The woman was a whirlwind of efficiency.

“Well, stranger or not, I’m shore happy to see that little gal gettin’ back in the saddle,” Rachel said as she filled Billy’s cup to the brim. “She was shore tore up after Lyle’s death.”

Tore up? Obviously, Shirlene Dalton had fooled the entire town with her big Texas smiles and pretty green eyes. But she didn’t fool Billy. From the first moment he’d been introduced to her, he’d had her pegged. No woman who looked like that would be married to a man almost twice her age unless she wanted to get her hands on his money.

Billy added some cream to his coffee before taking a sip. “Funny thing,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. “I thought I saw Shirlene this mornin’ out on Grover Road.”

Rachel laughed. “That’s doubtful, sugar, seein’ as how she hasn’t lived out there for over ten years.”

“She grew up out there?”

“Born and raised.” Rachel grinned. “But she shore moved up in the world. She married Lyle just a couple years after high school and has been livin’ the high life ever since.”

“Really?” Billy set down his cup. “So I guess Dalton Oil’s problems haven’t affected her lifestyle.”

A confused look settled over Rachel’s face just as Moses Tate, who sat two barstools over, spoke up.

“You fishin’ today, boy?”

Billy tried to steer clear of Moses. While the rest of the town saw only what they wanted to see, Moses’ aging eyes missed very little. Even now they were pinned on Billy with an intensity that had him fidgeting.

“Yes, sir.”

Moses spit a stream of tobacco in the plastic cup he always carried in his front shirt pocket. After he wiped off his mouth, his eyes narrowed on Billy. “For fish?”

The laugh Billy forced from his mouth sounded as fake as it was. “What else would I be fishin’ for, Mr. Tate?”

After a breakfast of light, fluffy biscuits and thick, rich country gravy, Billy was ready for a nap. Between Bootlegger’s and the surprise visit from Shirlene Dalton, he hadn’t gotten more than a couple hours’ worth of sleep. Still, the thought of heading back to a hot trailer and a lumpy mattress didn’t appeal to him. Instead, he headed over to the town library, a pretty, single-story brick building that sat right next to the park.

He pulled open the glass door to a blast of refrigerated air that was a welcome relief from the scorching July heat.
Inside, the library was like all libraries, rows of books surrounded by hushed silence—a silence suddenly broken by the tap of fingers on computer keys.

Pulling off his cap, Billy followed the sound to the checkout counter in the center of the library. Behind the desk sat the librarian, Ms. Murphy, her attention intent on the monitor before her.

After he’d first met Ms. Murphy, Billy had relegated her in his mind to the position of the town’s old maid. But studying her features behind the wire-framed glasses, he realized he’d made a mistake. Despite her calf-length skirts and buttoned-up blouses, Ms. Murphy looked no older than he was.

“Howdy, Ms. Murphy,” Billy said as he leaned across the desk.

And even though his words were whispered, the woman almost shot out of her conservative black heels. Her butt did leave the chair. Unfortunately, when it came back down the caster-wheeled chair was no longer there, and she sat down hard on the floor. Since there didn’t appear to be an opening in the counter, Billy vaulted over it and crouched down next to her.

“You all right, ma’am?” He tried to take her hand and help her up, but she jerked away.

“I’m fine, Mr. Wilkes,” she said in a tone that had more than likely reprimanded an entire town’s worth of overly loud library patrons at one time or another. But Billy had never been one to pay much attention to authority. As she started to get to her feet, he reached out and took her elbow and helped her back into the chair.

“Thank you,” she said with just a slight quiver in her voice, although Billy wasn’t so sure if it was the fall or his
touch that had her nerves scrambled. She appeared visibly relieved when he released her.

“I assume you’re not thanking me for scaring the daylights out of you,” Billy teased.

She glanced up and took note of his grin. A blush heated her cheeks before she smiled back. It was a nice smile, and unlike a certain blonde he’d run into that morning, this smile was genuine. “No, I’m thanking you for helping me off the floor after I made a fool of myself.”

“And here I thought I was the fool for sneaking up on a pretty lady when she’s busy.” Her blush got as red as the apple on her desk. Not wanting to embarrass her any further, he changed the subject. “What had your deep concentration anyway, Ms. Murphy?”

Before he could turn around and look at the computer screen, she dove for the mouse and clicked the window closed. “Just research,” she blurted out.

His grin deepened. “Research, huh?”

“You know how we librarians are,” she cleared her throat, “always walking around with our nose in a book.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, but he decided to let it go. What Ms. Murphy did in her little fortress was her own business. He was here on his.

“Speakin’ of books,” he shot a glance around at the shelves, “I was wonderin’ if you could help me out with some readin’ material while I’m here in Bramble.”

Ms. Murphy got to her feet and smoothed out her beige skirt, one that looked more appropriate for winter than the heat of midsummer. “What types of genres do you prefer, Mr. Wilkes? Mysteries? Westerns? Bestsellers?”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ more of history, ma’am.”

Her big brown eyes widened only fractionally. “Of
course.” She opened a hinged section of the counter. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll be happy to show you where we keep all our history books.”

On their way through the book-stuffed shelves, Billy took note of the gentle sway of Ms. Murphy’s hips. They weren’t as skinny as he thought they would be, nor were they as curvy as Shirlene Dalton’s. Of course, few women had a body like Ms. Dalton’s. That woman was built like a brick shithouse. And it had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to succumb to the soft give of her butt beneath his fingers or the crush of her breasts against his bare chest. But he wasn’t stupid enough to dip into that kind of trouble. He preferred his women low maintenance, unlike the flashy Ms. Dalton.

“Here we are,” Ms. Murphy said. Billy was so caught up in his thoughts he almost ran smack dab into her.

She turned, and when she saw how close he was, she took a few steps back. “Is there anything you’re particularly interested in—the old west? Alamo? Civil War?”

Billy glanced at the titles and tried to appear nonchalant.

“Actually, I’m interested in Bramble history—mostly, the late 1800s.”

S
HIRLENE’S CHILDHOOD HOME
didn’t improve in full sunlight. In fact, the opposite was true. The sweltering sun only served to illuminate the pathetic state of the trailer and intensify the smell of the stinky garbage that surrounded it. Fortunately, Shirlene didn’t plan on staying long. Just long enough to find her wallet.

After enjoying a hearty breakfast with a sizzling hot cowboy who understood just how to treat a lady, Shirlene had come to a couple realizations: One, extra weight or no extra weight, she still had it. And two, it was very unlikely that a chainsaw-wielding midget had taken off with her wallet, especially when he had left her checkbook, her expensive cell phone, and a wad of cash. Which meant her wallet had probably fallen out when she dropped her purse on the front steps.

All she had to do now was find it.

“Come on, Piglet,” she tried to coax Sherman out of the SUV. “Bubba was probably right. It was just some neighbor trying out his new chainsaw.”

But being that Sherman was smarter than the average
pig, he saw straight through the lie and, with a grunt, refused to budge from the seat.

“Some watch pig you are,” she huffed. Still, she left the door open just in case the pig decided to come to her rescue if she screamed.

Shirlene’s wallet wasn’t under the front steps. Or anywhere in a ten-foot radius. She really didn’t want to enter the trailer, but her credit cards were the only things keeping her from abject poverty. The locked door surprised her yet again, especially in its current condition. But she figured Bubba had locked it when he left as some kind of east Texas joke.

As she searched through her keys, an image of Wilkesville flashed through her mind—something that had happened frequently that morning. It annoyed the hell out of her. Why in the world would her mind be stuck on Bubba Wilkes when she had better things to think about? Like a pair of laughing sapphire eyes. And a lean torso covered in the smooth cotton of an expensive western shirt. And a sexy smile that spoke of naughty thoughts and steamy nights.

Beau might be young, but he was twice the man Bubba Wilkes would ever be. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter. Like a two-headed cow in a carnival freak show, the image of Bubba’s naked body seemed to have burned itself on Shirlene’s retinas.

Frustrated with her thoughts, she didn’t waste any time unlocking the door. The sooner she found her wallet, the sooner she could drive to Midland and spend the next few days in an air-conditioned hotel room while she waited for the bank president to get back from his vacation. Her plan was to try and convince the man to let her live in her
house until she could sell it. Then with the proceeds, she would pay off the loan and have enough left over to last her a while. Since it was a win-win for both her and the bank, she didn’t see how the president could refuse her.

Unless he was as ornery as Mr. Peabody.

But her plans evaporated when she couldn’t find her wallet inside the trailer either. Feeling slightly hysterical, she jerked out the sofa bed and was in the process of searching beneath the thin mattress when a thought struck her. Who had folded the sofa bed back up? She couldn’t see Bubba doing it. Not unless he was some kind of closet neat freak. Of course, Lyle had been a little anal, so it was possible. It was also possible that Bubba had found her wallet. Although why he hadn’t said anything when he drove past her earlier was beyond her. Still, he wouldn’t be hard to track down, not when he lived at Josephine’s Diner during the day.

Resigning herself to a few more hours in day-old clothes, she turned back to the door. Her gaze swept to the small kitchen and the old card table she and Colt had eaten all their meals on. Two paper plates sat on the scarred top, along with two cans of grape soda. On each plate were remnants of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Cheetos crumbs. A kid lunch if ever Shirlene saw one.

Suddenly everything made perfect sense. The locked door. The cold-fingered strangler. The chainsaw-wielding midget. Kids were using her trailer like a summer playhouse, no doubt having a ball with sleepovers and picnics, and scaring gullible women.

She smiled at the thought of how much fun she and Hope would’ve had in a vacant trailer. But the smile faded when her gaze drifted down to the floor. Lying on its side
by the leg of one chair was a baby bottle. Not a play one, but one that dripped milk onto the faded linoleum. Swallowing hard, Shirlene picked up the clear plastic bottle with the bright pink butterflies and watched as the drop of milk on the end slipped down the nipple to the pink rim.

A wall of sadness swept over Shirlene, a sadness that had her fingers tightening around the bottle and her chest tightening around her heart. She wasn’t surprised by her reaction. Baby things always made her sad. But for once she didn’t try to hide it. There was no one there to notice her pain. No one there to realize how devastated Shirlene Dalton was over her childless state.

Of course, Lyle had known. Sweet, even-tempered Lyle who had put up with sex by the calendar, fertility doctors, and boxes upon boxes of over-the-counter pregnancy tests. He had put up with it all and never once complained. And Shirlene couldn’t help but wonder if the pressure he’d felt to give her a child hadn’t been partly to blame for his heart attack. Lyle had always worked so hard to give her everything she wanted.