Rachel Lee - Just a Cowboy

But how could he do that?

“Anyway,” she said finally, giving herself a visible shake, “I should be safe here while I decide if I’m even going back to Miami for the court date. This is the first time I’ve slowed down in weeks. I’ve been paying my way with cash. He shouldn’t be able to find me.”

If someone wanted to kill her, Hank thought, he wouldn’t be all that sure she’d covered her tracks well enough. There were a million things a person could do to leave a trail. It all depended on how determined someone was to find her. And he doubted she was very experienced in the kind of thing she’d been trying to do.

He reached for his coffee mug, trying to sort out his thoughts about the best way to handle this. It was possible someone had tried to kill her, strange as it seemed, given the details. He could find out if that was true just by talking to some friends in the Denver Police Department, an inquiry that wouldn’t draw any attention here to Conard County.

Looking at the way she was hunched, he felt pretty certain, deep inside, that she had been mugged. Regardless of whether she was correct about why it had happened, he found he did believe she’d been attacked. The cops might be right that it had nothing to do with her husband, but that was the question, wasn’t it?

Even she didn’t seem one hundred percent certain, but he could understand her unwillingness to take any risks: A threat had been made, and then someone had tried to kill her.

He’d heard lots of such threats in his life, often made in moments of anger or stress, that were meaningless. It was usually just a strong expression on the part of people who said it.

On the other hand, if the man—Dean, it was—had felt strongly enough about it to call her and tell her that … Maybe it would be a mistake to dismiss it. Most people said things like that in a moment of passion, not in calmer moments. Not by making a phone call.

He frowned, looking down at his mug because it was easier than looking at her. Looking at her, much as she wasn’t his type, reminded him that he was a man with a man’s needs, something he had been trying not to think about for a while now.

But looking at the mug didn’t help a whole lot, either. It wasn’t as if it held any answers.

“What are you thinking?” she asked finally.

“I’m thinking that I’m not quite as prepared to dismiss what you’re saying as the police were.”

He saw her lift her head, and a flicker of hope appeared on her face before it disappeared.

“That’s nice of you,” she said finally. “I’ve been feeling kind of … Well, it’s hard to explain. When nobody believes you, you start to wonder if you’re losing your mind. It’s a very lonely feeling.”

He could well imagine it would be. God knew he’d had plenty of reason to second-guess some of his own decisions, and his own interpretations of things.

He still planned to check on whether her mugging story was true, but if it was, he couldn’t afford to dismiss the rest. Not when she was living right next door to him.

Not when she apparently didn’t have anyone else.

He could almost hear Fran laughing, as once she would have laughed, Count on you, Hank, to be the one to get the kitten down from the tree.

“Crap,” he said.

“Crap?” Kelly asked.

“Crap,” he repeated. Then he regretted it, because she began to shrink in on herself again. “Look, relax. I was just remembering my…a friend. She used to tease me about my inclination to get involved in things, so if you think I’m getting more involved than you want, just tell me to get lost.”

“I don’t want to do that,” she said swiftly. “But you don’t have to get involved. Really. I just told you my story. There’s no reason for you to give it another thought.”

Yeah, there was. Because it might be true. All of it. And that was worth a million reasons right there.

“What were you remembering?” she asked when he said nothing.

Ah, hell. “At the fire department we used to joke about rescuing cats. We did it sometimes—we weren’t heartless. But the joke was that you never saw the skeleton of a cat in a tree. Somehow they’d find their ways down, even if we never came to help. Fran, my friend, used to say that I’d always be the first one up into the tree.”

“Is that how you see me?”

He saw a spark of anger in her gaze, which was an improvement over her haunted look. “No, actually I don’t. It was a comment about me, not you. Not at all about you.”

A couple of seconds ticked by, then she relaxed. “Well, it doesn’t have to concern you at all. I just told you what happened and why I’m here. I don’t need a keeper. Or a rescuer.”

“I don’t remember saying that you did. You seem to have done all right so far.”

At that she seemed to shrink again, and all of a sudden he felt frustrated. “What now?” he asked. “What the hell did I say this time?”

She winced a bit, shaking her head. “It’s not you. I just got sick of hearing how I’d done all right for myself by marrying Dean.”

“Oh.” Kind of an echo. He could understand that. Still, it seemed to him that he and this lady weren’t going to get along very well. She seemed to be a walking land mine. Understandable, but not something he especially wanted to deal with. No, he could just keep a general eye out and keep his distance as much as possible. Other than some essential stuff he needed to do around here, there was no need for them to hang out together or anything.

She seemed to have grown fascinated by her coffee mug, both hands wrapped tightly around it as she stared into it. He felt again that sizzle of surprise and attraction he’d felt when first he’d laid eyes on her.

It wasn’t just that she was too damn pretty. He ordinarily was drawn to brunettes with warm dark eyes, yet here he was staring at a pale blonde with blue eyes. And yes, she looked like she’d stepped out of Central Casting, or whatever they called it. But there was something else about her, something very real and not plastic at all.

It called to him, to his feelings as a man. Kind of like a chest-beating response, he thought wryly. Well, he was long past those days, thanks to becoming pretty well crippled.

Leaning forward, he lifted his cup to sip coffee, trying to find a way to wrap up this conversation that wouldn’t leave her feeling abandoned once again. Because whether she was right or not about what had happened, she’d been abandoned by the cops and even by her lawyer. All she had left was herself.

And now him. He sighed, sipped and rose. “Cold,” he said by way of explanation. He went to the sink, ignoring the glassy splinters of pain in his hips, dumped the coffee and poured a fresh cup. Then he returned to the table, trying to feel his way.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly as he sat again. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”

He felt startled. “Trouble? What trouble?”

She hesitated. “Well, renting this place. You obviously weren’t ready for a tenant. Now on my account you’re rushing things. I’ve made work for you. And then I went and dragged you in with my story. I could just be crazy. Maybe I should move on.”

“I was going to do the work anyway. Speeding it up a bit is no problem. As for you moving on…well, I don’t have anything to say about that, but I doubt Ben’s going to part with his fee, which is the first month’s rent.”

“Oh no!” She clapped a hand to her cheek.

“Oh no? That’s standard.”

“No, no. It’s just that I can’t believe he rented this place to me knowing I’d only be here a couple of months when he was going to get the first month’s rent.”