THE TEXAS WILDCATTER'S BABY (18 page)
“Nothing like waiting till the last minute.” Sam dropped into an empty seat. “The dance is the day after tomorrow.”
Cliff sat across from him. “I wasn’t sure I could get the evening off.” In truth, he’d stalled, doubting the wisdom of showing up unannounced. She may not appreciate it.
If he could go back in time to five minutes ago, he’d head straight to the station rather than call Sam’s wife looking for Scarlett because, par for the course, she hadn’t answered her cell phone.
“It’s none of my business,” Sam said, “but you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
Cliff pushed his cowboy hat back on his head, then took it off and set it on the table. “My aunt Hilda thinks I should get married.”
“It’s a nice state to be in with the right woman. I can vouch for that.”
“She thinks I should get married at the Mega Weekend of Weddings in June.”
“Whoa!” Sam sat back. “Kind of soon, isn’t it? That’s only six weeks away. You and Scarlett haven’t been dating very long.”
“Real soon. Hilda has it in her head the local sheriff marrying will be a big draw. Bring more tourists to town for the event. Registration is only about half of what the town council hoped for.”
Cliff’s aunt not only owned the Paydirt Saloon, Sweetheart’s most popular watering hole, she was also the mayor and a driving force behind the Mega Weekend of Weddings extravaganza.
The town of Sweetheart had a colorful history. It was founded by a pair of young lovers who met on a wagon train passing through. They married in California and returned to Sweetheart to settle down and raise a family. The man promptly discovered gold in the nearby mountains, and the town experienced its first boom.
Around the turn of the twentieth century, young couples began eloping to Sweetheart, their marriages officiated by a judge who didn’t inquire too deeply into a person’s age. The surrounding natural beauty drew tourists and outdoor recreationists, eager to hike, fish, horseback ride and, during the winter months, cross-country ski.
For the past fifty years, until the forest fire last summer nearly destroyed the town, the citizens of Sweetheart had capitalized on the wedding and tourist trade. Most of the local economy had depended on it for their livelihoods. When the tourists stopped coming after the fire, the economy died. Cliff’s aunt, along with Sam and several dedicated others, was leading a fierce fight to restore Sweetheart to its former glory.
“She also thinks it will help with my reelection this fall,” Cliff continued. “Hers, too. Not that anyone would run against her.”
“You, either.”
Sam had a point. A Dempsey had held the office of sheriff since the 1860s. It was a long-standing tradition the citizens were more than happy to continue.
“The mayor may be right, however.” Sam sipped at his coffee. “You could be a draw. But is that any reason to get married? It’s a huge step. Are you even in love with Scarlett?”
“No. But I like her. She’s fun. Pretty. Smart. Good with kids.”
“You sound like you’re picking her out of a catalog. Might be why you’re jumpier than a toad on a hot sidewalk.”
Cliff had to laugh. “Rest assured, I’m not asking her to marry me or even considering it. My aunt will have to come up with another gimmick.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“But I’d like to see where things go with Scarlett. Test our potential.”
Cliff had another, more personal reason for pursuing Scarlett he didn’t share with his friend. He was a family man without a family of his own. A homebody without a full house to come home to. Last summer, he’d moved his newly divorced cousin Maeve back to Sweetheart and was now helping to raise her brood of three. His involvement with them served to emphasize how empty his personal life had become.
With the town’s population of roughly one thousand, there weren’t a lot of available women for Cliff to choose from. His job, the long hours and potential for danger, required an understanding wife, which narrowed the field even more. Scarlett McPhee, new to town, was a definite prospect.
Sam stood and clapped Cliff on the shoulder. “Take it from me, don’t rush into anything. I married the first time for the wrong reasons, and we spent a lot of years making each other miserable.”
At that moment, Sam’s new wife Annie entered the kitchen. Cliff watched his friend’s eyes light up and his smile grow wide. That never happened when Cliff looked at Scarlett. At least, not to the same degree.
It could, though. They might fall in love. Eventually.
Scarlett walked in behind Annie. Cliff ran a hand through his hair and did his best to flash her a smile as wide as his friend’s. It froze, then waned. Judging by her wary expression, she wasn’t at all happy to see him.
Damn. What was going on with her?
Annie greeted him with a warm, “Morning, Cliff,” then winked at her husband. “Let’s get out of here and leave these two alone.”
Sam hesitated, his brows raised in question. Cliff shook his head. He didn’t need backup. If he was going down in flames, he preferred to do it without an audience.
Once they were alone, he waited for Scarlett to speak. After a lengthy and awkward pause, he muttered, “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.” Rubbing her palms together, she went to the counter and helped herself to a mug from the stack.
Cliff had been going to fix her the coffee. Instead, he watched, completely captivated. Scarlett glided across the room with an elegant—and subtly sensuous—grace he hadn’t noticed before. As if she were wearing heels and not cowboy boots.
She took her coffee black. That was different. Maybe he and his cowboy tastes were rubbing off on her. The leather belt was also different. She usually didn’t wear one. He found himself wishing she had. The belt accentuated her trim waist and ample curves, which were only hinted at before.
She raised the mug of coffee to her mouth, pursed her lips and blew on the liquid, then took a sip. A jolt Cliff hadn’t felt in Scarlett’s presence before arrowed through him. He’d always thought her to be attractive but not necessarily sexy. The sudden revelation unnerved him. He generally kept a firm grip on his emotions, a necessary skill in his line of work.
Picking up the bouquet, he said, “These are for you.”
“Thanks.” She accepted the flowers and, with both hands full, set them back down on the table. “You didn’t have to.”
“They’re a bribe. I was hoping you’d go with me to the square dance Friday night.”
The community center had finally reopened nearly a year after the fire. The barbeque and dance were in celebration.
“I...um...don’t think I can. I appreciate the invitation, though.”
“Are you going with someone else?” He didn’t like the idea of that.
“No, no. I’m just...busy.” She clutched her mug tightly between both hands.
“I’d really like to take you.” Fifteen minutes ago, he probably wouldn’t have put up a fight and accepted her loss of interest. Except he was suddenly more interested in her than before. These slight nuances in her were intriguing. “Think on it overnight.”
“O...kay.” She took another sip of her coffee. As she did, the cuff of her shirt sleeve pulled back.
He saw it then, a small tattoo on the inside of her left wrist resembling a shooting star. A second jolt coursed through him, this one of an entirely different nature. He hadn’t seen the tattoo before.
Because, as of seven days ago when he and Scarlett ate dinner at the I Do Café, it wasn’t there.
“Is that new?” He pointed to the tattoo.
Panic filled her eyes. “Um...yeah. It is.”
Cliff didn’t buy her story. There were no tattoo parlors in Sweetheart and, to his knowledge, she hadn’t left town. And why the sudden panic?
Before he could question her further, his cell phone rang.
“Tom Welch just called,” his deputy Iva Lynn said. “Seems some of his chain saws disappeared overnight from his garage. Though, knowing Tom, he probably lent it to a friend and can’t remember.”
“What’s his address?”
“140 Matrimony Lane.”
“Tell him I’ll be there shortly.” Cliff disconnected. “I’ll call you later,” he told Scarlett. And he would, if only to get to the bottom of her strange behavior and new tattoo that really didn’t look all that new.
“All right.”
Any other time, he would have given her a kiss. It felt strange under the current circumstances, so, instead, he opted for a brief, one-armed hug—which she tolerated more than returned.
The top of her head came to just under his nose. Cliff inhaled, only to pull back and stare at her.
Scarlett averted her face as if shy. Or she was hiding something. His police instincts told him it was the latter.
Leaning down, he took another whiff of the scent that had triggered his internal alarm. She smelled delightful, reminding him of the flowers he’d brought for her. It also wasn’t at all how Scarlett normally smelled.
Something was seriously wrong.
He scrutinized her face. Eyes, chocolate brown and fathomless. Same as before. Hair, thick and glossy as mink’s fur. Her lips, however, were different. More ripe, more lush and incredibly kissable.
He didn’t stop to think and simply reacted. The next instant, his mouth covered hers.
She squirmed and squealed and wrestled him. Hot coffee splashed onto his chest and down his slacks. He let her go, but not because of any pain.
“Are you crazy?” she demanded, her breath coming fast.
Holding on to the wrist with the new tattoo, he narrowed his gaze. “Who the hell are you? And don’t bother lying because I know you aren’t Scarlett McPhee.”
Copyright © 2014 by Cathy McDavid
ISBN-13: 9781460327821
THE TEXAS WILDCATTER’S BABY
Copyright © 2014 by Cathy Gillen Thacker
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.