Catch Me a Cowboy (18 page)

“Which is exactly my point,” Kenny continued. “Losing Lyle has taken all the sass right out of our girl and left her prime pickin’s for a no-account con artist with bad intentions on his mind.”

Rye Pickett was a big dude to begin with. But when he got riled, he could puff up to twice his size. He did that now, his jaw tightening on either side of his goatee. “Well, we shore ain’t gonna let that happen to our little Shirlene. But how are we gonna keep the man away from her when she’s given him a key to her house?”

Kenny scratched his head. “I haven’t figured that one out yet, but I’m workin’ on it. In the meantime, I’ll be keepin’ a close eye on Mr. Beau Williams. And if he makes one false move, he’ll be lookin’ down the barrel of my huntin’ rifle.”

“… SO
I
JUST TOLD
K
ENNY
G
ENE
, if he was gonna work again tonight, I sure wasn’t gonna be stuck home doin’ nothin’—especially when he’s yet to make any kind of commitment.”

While Twyla chattered on, Shirlene motioned for Manny, the bartender at Bootlegger’s, to pour her another shot. But the smooth burn of her third drink did nothing to dim her anger—or Twyla’s annoying voice.

“I mean how many weddin’ reality TV shows do I have to force the man to watch before he gets the hint?”

Shirlene set the shot glass down on the bar and released her breath as the first wave of alcohol bliss assailed her. “Well, I sure couldn’t tell you, honey. But maybe he thinks after three marriages that you’re all married out.”

“As if.” Twyla lifted her ridiculous apple martini and took a big gulp. “I just love weddin’s—especially my own.” She shot a glance over at Shirlene. “You wouldn’t be thinkin’ of tyin’ the knot, would you, Shirl?”

The question was so stupid, Shirlene snorted.

Twyla nodded her head. “That’s what I figured. The
entire town might be worried about you takin’ up with the wrong kind of man. But I knew it was just them horny-mones actin’ up. ’Course I should warn you about hoppin’ in bed with the first good lookin’ cowboy to ride into town. I let that travelin’ nightie salesman sweet talk me into givin’ him some sugar and talk about a Slam-Bam-Here’s-A-Nightie-Ma’am. Not only was it over before I could hit the high note of the Star-Spangled Banner, but that flimsy piece of lace didn’t even hold up a month.”

Before Shirlene could figure out what Twyla was talking about, Harley Sutter pushed his way through the Friday-night crowd at Bootlegger’s. Given that his stomach was the size of a barge, this wasn’t that difficult.

“Well, there’s my little gal.” He gave her a couple awkward pats on the back before his eyes scrunched up over his thickly waxed handlebar mustache. “You did somethin’ different.”

His observant comment surprised Shirlene.

“I styled her hair,” Twyla jumped in. “Don’t it look great?”

Harley shook his head. “Nope, it ain’t the hair.” He leaned closer. “Must’ve been the lightin’. You still look like the same redheaded, freckled-faced kid who used to tear around town after Hope.”

Freckles? She glanced at the mirror behind the bar. Unfortunately, it was obscured by rows of bar glasses. Still, Mayor Sutter had really gone off the deep end if he thought Shirlene had freckles. Maybe in high school when she wasn’t smart enough to stay out of the sun. But as an adult, she avoided sunlight like the plague—her mind wandered back to this afternoon when she had stood on the roof of the trailer with no thought in her head about freckling skin. Of course, with sweat trickling down
Bubba’s hard, smooth muscles like condensation on glass, her horny-mones had wiped out all logical thought.

Harley reached out and ruffled her hair. “You sure were a sassy-pants back then.” His eyes turned serious. “A sassy-pants who was smart enough to steer clear of ornery boys with no good on their minds.”

Ever since Shirlene could remember, the townsfolk had functioned like one illogical brain. And being part of that brain, it didn’t take Shirlene long to figure out what ornery, good-lookin’ cowboy Twyla and Harley were talking about. Obviously, Kenny Gene had figured out who the blonde in Bubba’s bed was, and the entire town was now worried she was going to make a monumental mistake. Considering that only that afternoon Shirlene had been worried about the same thing, she couldn’t very well blame them.

“Well, it’s real sweet that y’all are worried about me.” She flashed a smile. “But the only reason we were together was because I got scared.”

Harley patted her on the back. “I’m sure it’s pretty scary being all alone in that big old mansion with Colt and Hope out in California.”

Shirlene only wished she was all alone in her house. But thanks to Mr. Cates, she realized she would never be lonely in her great big, old mansion again. The thought depressed her so much that she waved at Manny for another shot. Fortunately, the owner of the bar had always allowed her to run a tab.

“But no matter how scared you get,” Harley continued, “you can’t leave your door open for any rascal who wants to walk through it. There are scoundrels out there just waitin’ to prey on lonely widda women.”

“Amen to that,” Shirlene said, thinking of Mr. Cates.
A bigger scoundrel she’d never met. Too bad he hadn’t been the one looking down the barrel of her cap gun. She would’ve loved to see him squirm like Mr. Peabody. Poor Mr. Peabody; no doubt the man had run all the way to the sheriff’s office. Unfortunately for the bank manager, Sam took off early on Fridays and was now sitting at the end of the bar enjoying a tall one.

And speaking of tall ones… Shirlene’s gaze got caught by the man in the black Stetson standing next to Sam. A man who hadn’t been there earlier. She would’ve noticed that long, lean body and expensive shirt. She smiled a “hello,” and he answered with one that had Twyla choking on her Appletini. Shirlene hadn’t come here looking for Beau, but suddenly he seemed like a life raft in the middle of a stormy sea.

“But don’t you worry about a thing, Shirlene,” Harley rambled on. “I’m keepin’ a close eye out.”

“That sure makes me feel a lot better, honey.” She got up and scooted around his big belly. “Now if y’all will excuse me.” She weaved her way through the crowd. Beau met her halfway around the bar, his hat off and his smile dazzling.

“You came,” he said.

She grinned up at him. “I figured it wouldn’t be very hospitable of me if I didn’t.”

He shook his head. “Not hospitable at all.”

They smiled at one another for a few seconds more before Beau held out a hand, directing her to an empty table in one corner. Once she was seated, he took a stool across from her.

“What would you like to drink?” He looked around for the waitress.

Since Shirlene had already had a few shots, she probably
should’ve ordered beer. But considering her week, she ordered a margarita on the rocks.

“You changed your hair color.”

She looked over into a pair of twinkling, sapphire eyes that made her feel better than three shots of tequila had.

“Not intentionally,” she said.

He laughed. “My mother had that happen to her a few times, although I think hers was intentional. When I was younger, I never knew what color I’d come home from school to. One time it would be as red as a barnyard hen, another as black as the ace of spades, and the next as golden as our Labrador, Honey. My father liked to tease that she was just trying to give us boys a sample of each so we’d know which color we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with.”

Shirlene grinned and leaned her arms on the table. “And which one did you decide on, Beauregard?”

Tipping his head, he studied her. “Red looks awful nice on you, Ms. Shirlene.”

“Chicken,” she said. “That was an easy out if ever I heard one.” She squinted. “Let me see, you look like the type of man to go for deep and rich. A dark brown—no, a thick gleaming ebony.”

Something flickered in those eyes—something that looked a lot like pain. But it was quickly covered over with a smile.

“Pretty good. Do you also read palms?”

“Only during the winter solstice.”

He laughed, and when he sobered, he glanced down at the floor by her heels. “I’m surprised you don’t have Sherman with you.”

“He wasn’t in the mood for dancin’,” she teased, although she couldn’t help but feel guilty all over again
for leaving the pig—and the kids. But not guilty enough to head back to the trailer. At least, not yet. She needed just a little more fortification before she faced Mia and informed her that, not only weren’t they going to live in a big mansion, but Shirlene had also spent the last of her credit on a miniature western skirt and toy guns. Although the guns had been worth every penny.

The waitress, Jenny, brought their drinks to the table. As she took Beau’s money, she spoke to Shirlene. “If you’re needin’ a little company, Shirl, Buddy’s cousin is single. Owns a taxidermy shop and everything. He’s the one that stuffed that moose over the bar.” Both she and Beau glanced over at the moose. It might’ve been impressive if not for the crossed eyes.

“I’ll be sure to look him up if I need any stuffin’,” Shirlene said.

Once Jenny was gone, Beau asked, “Has she noticed the eyes?”

“In case you haven’t figured it out already, the people of Bramble only see what they want to. John Wayne isn’t dead but living on a ranch just east of El Paso. Bullwinkle is a fine example of taxidermy. And I’ve always been a redhead.”

“And a fine lookin’ redhead,” he teased.

“This coming from a man who no doubt salivates over Catherine Zeta-Jones.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “I’ve seen
The Legend of Zorro
at least a hundred times.”

“The entire movie or just the stable scene?” she asked.

“The stable scene, of course.”

She laughed, suddenly feeling much better than she’d felt in a long time. And the more they talked, the better Shirlene felt. Even though she had no intentions of taking
things further than a little friendly flirting, it felt nice to be courted by such a good-looking man. Of course, the alcohol didn’t hurt. After her second margarita kicked in, she was feeling no pain. And when a Tim McGraw song came on, she tapped her foot to the beat.

The action didn’t go unnoticed. Slipping his hat back on, Beau slid off the stool and held out a hand. “Could I have this dance, Ms. Shirlene?”

She took his hand. “Only if you stop calling me that. It makes me feel like your first-grade teacher—especially since I’m already feeling a little uncomfortable about our age difference.”

“What age difference? And I’ll have you know that I had some pretty steamy fantasies about kissing my first-grade teacher,” he whispered in her ear as he guided her out to the crowded dance floor.

She swatted at his arm. “Behave yourself, or I’ll have to pull out the ruler.”

“Lord have mercy,” he breathed as he whirled her into a two-step.

Beau turned out to be a good dancer—his steps were smooth, his turns and reverses effortless. They danced a two-step and the western swing before they settled in to a waltz. Beau held her close but not too close, his hand wandering no further than her waist.

He seemed like the kind of man a woman could trust. The kind of man Lyle had been—strong and dependable. Because of that, she allowed herself to relax, her head dipping to rest on his shoulder as she gave herself up to the dance moves.

Just as her eyes slipped closed, Bubba popped into her head. And not just popped, but stuck there. One minute
she was enjoying the feel of being held by a trustworthy man again, and the next, she was fantasizing about running her hands over a hard chest and ripped stomach all slicked up with manly sweat. And what made matters worse was when she finally snapped out of it and lifted her head, she discovered her hand cradling Beau’s pectoral muscle. She quickly moved it back up to his shoulder, but it was a little too late for apologies or explanations.

His eyes already simmered with heat.

Before she could stop him, his lips brushed over hers. It wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was nice. Just not nice enough to continue to lead Beau on. She started to pull back when another dancing couple ran into Beau from behind. His teeth bumped her top lip, and he had started to apologize when an annoying voice cut him off.

“Well, if I’m not as clumsy as an armadillo in a china cabinet.”

Shirlene didn’t know who pulled back quicker, she or Beau. They both turned and stared in horror at the man who stood there with an idiotic grin on his hillbilly face. But when his gaze slid over to Shirlene, the intensity in Bubba’s dark eyes didn’t quite match his smile.

“Why, Shirley Girl, I didn’t realize you were still babysittin’.”

A look came over Beau’s face that didn’t bode well for the east Texas redneck. Shirlene probably should’ve let Beau teach Bubba some manners. But the sight of blood had always made her a little woozy. Although right now she didn’t need blood to make her woozy.

When she released Beau and stepped back, the room shifted like the bow of a boat, causing Shirlene to teeter on the heels of her Manolos. It appeared that while they’d
been dancing, the tequila had finally caught up with her. Before she could fall overboard, both men reached out and steadied her, Bubba sending her a squinty-eyed look from beneath the curled-up brim of his hat.