Tina Leonard - The Renegade Cowboy Returns

“What?” he said. “This is just a harmless—”

“Get it out of the house!”

“All right, all right.” He exited his own house in a hurry, recognizing that he and his trophy weren’t welcome. Chelsea grabbed a glass of water, drinking to calm herself.

“I’m sure that snake was more scared of you than you were of it,” he called from the porch.

“Shut up, Jonas,” she said, and then she heard Gage and him giggling outside the screen door like a couple hyenas. Like children. Chelsea drew a deep breath, marched to the front door, slammed it shut and locked it.

Boys might be boys—but not at her expense.

* * *

“NOW YOU’VE DONE IT,” Gage told Jonas. “I could have told you that gag wasn’t going to play well. Although it was funny. That Irish is a screamer for certain.”

His friend couldn’t contain his grin. “I’m going to take it home and bring it out at the dinner table.”

“Sabrina will probably let you have it upside the bean with a dinner plate,” Gage warned.

“This is true.” Jonas stuck his prize in a sack and went off. “Good luck, by the way.”

“Good luck with what?” he asked, knowing the sentiment had been loaded.

“Getting back in the house. Ever again.” Whistling, Jonas got in his truck and drove away, his conscience completely unbothered by how he’d destroyed Gage’s plans to get on Chelsea’s good side.

She wasn’t going to let him in tonight, he’d be willing to bet. “Nuts,” Gage said, thinking about the pretty breasts he’d tried so hard not to look at. Maybe it was better if he slept in the old run-down bunkhouse. Deciding there was always his truck to bed down in if he couldn’t stomach the conditions, he went off, cursing Jonas under his breath.

* * *

FROM HER UPSTAIRS bedroom window, Chelsea watched Gage slink off, a veritable snake in nicely fitting blue jeans that hugged his butt and yet sagged just enough to be comfortable. She should have known that any friend of the Callahans was bound to be a bad boy.

“I know how to handle men with a wild streak,” she said, setting down to her laptop. Bronwyn was in trouble, but Chelsea didn’t know how to help her. It all had to do with Bronwyn’s conflict, and Chelsea had yet to figure out exactly what that was. She had the feeling Bronwyn hadn’t yet been totally honest with her about her real emotions, the real thing that drove her to be a detective—

“Chelsea!”

She glanced out the bedroom window. Gage was below, waving something at her.

It looked like a white flag.

Truce?

She opened her window. “I’m busy. What do you want?”

He lowered the flag. “To ask you out to dinner.”

“Why?”

The question shot out of her more rudely than she’d intended. Once burned, twice shy…

“Just a friendly meal between two people who are sharing space.”

“We’re not,” she said very sweetly. “You’re out there and I’m cozy in here. But thanks.” She started to close the window.

“Chelsea, wait!”

She edged it up a little and looked out. “What’s the matter? Can’t you just grill a snake for your supper?”

He grinned at her, the devil in denim. “I could, but I’d rather share a meal with you.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. You’re trouble, Texas.”

“Yeah. But you know that up front, so it’ll be easier for you. Anyway, we should try out a restaurant in Tempest. I’ll buy, since you’re mad at me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Then obviously you’ll be buying me dinner every night.”

Gage laughed, a full deep laugh that had the hair standing up on her arms. The man was too sexy for his own good—and she suspected he’d been told that a time or two by man-hunting ladies.

“You need to see the town,” he said. “Getting out will help you with your writing.”

Chelsea wrinkled her nose. He had a point—it wouldn’t hurt her to go do some exploring of her new town. Jonas had said Tempest was charming.

Anyway, she had a dangling heroine, and truthfully, she’d do anything to get rid of her stubborn case of writer’s block. “All right,” she said, not gracefully, either. This man had probably looked at her naked breasts, no doubt told Jonas she’d gotten out of the creek without her top. They’d probably had a great, knee-slapping guffaw over it. “I’m ordering steak, though. You pay for your sins around here, buster.”

“Come on down, Rapunzel. We’ll see if we can find you a steak in Tempest.”

Chelsea shut the window, closing the drapes so he couldn’t watch her change. It had been a long time since she’d had a real date, although this certainly couldn’t be called a date—more like a short truce. She and Jonas had never dated—their relationship had started out as an agreement between two people who each needed something.

I wanted out of Ireland. I wanted a climate that suited my mother’s health better. I wanted life beyond what I knew.

If I have to put up with a snake now and again, it’s going to be worth it—even if he has brown eyes and a body to die for.

Chapter Three

“So,” Gage said, as they seated themselves in a booth at Cactus Max’s. “This looks like a great place for a red herring, don’t you think?”

Chelsea glanced at him with some disdain in her big eyes. Gage grinned, loving yanking her chain.

“Are you trying to be funny?” she asked.

“Not really. Am I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.” She snapped open her menu with some annoyance, and he grinned again. In the corner of the bar-and-grill-style restaurant, three pool tables were in use, the occasional clicking of balls audible over the easy conversation of the diners. About fifty people milled around, enjoying nachos and beer and other cuisine, or watching big-screen TVs that hung from all four corners, the sound muted. In the background, soothing and mellow jazz music played. Gage found himself relaxing, until he saw Chelsea’s gaze fixed on him.

“What?”

She shook her head. “There’s a twenty-ounce steak on the menu.”

“If you can eat it, be my guest.”

“I’ll go with the Southwestern steak wraps.” She closed her menu.

“And some wine?”

“Tea,” she said, eyeing him again. “Thanks.”

He laughed. “You’re not letting your guard down around me, are you?”

“I can’t,” she said. “You got really close to me with a bullet. And do you have a permit for that gun you carry?”

They were interrupted by a dark-haired woman named Blanche cheerfully placing a lighted candle on their table. The flame gave the booth a romantic atmosphere that Gage knew would not help Chelsea relax. Not around him, anyway.

Talk about trust issues. He had a wall to climb with this redhead.

“New to town?” the waitress asked.

“We are,” Gage said. “We’re staying at Dark Diablo.”

“Oh,” Blanche said. “I know you. You’re the ones Jonas said didn’t like each other very much.”

Chelsea’s gaze shot to his, then bounced away. Gage laughed. “We’re working on it, Blanche.”

She smiled at him. “Well, you sure are a good-looking fellow. I like my men rugged. I can’t imagine a lady wouldn’t just go to jelly at the knees for you, honey.”

He figured Blanche was somewhere around sixty years old, and with her infectious smile and dark brown eyes, she’d probably been able to catch whatever kind of man she wanted. “Thanks. I like my ladies round and sweet like you.”

She grinned. “And what about you?” she asked Chelsea, politely trying to include her in the banter.

“I like my wraps rare and my tea cold, please,” she said, and Blanche giggled.

“She’s no fun,” the waitress told Gage.