Marin Thomas - No Ordinary Cowboy

On the verge of losing control, he ended the kiss—or tried to. Lucy’s mouth followed his when he pulled away, their ragged breathing filling the truck cab. Damn. The joke was on him. He’d kissed Lucy because he’d been trying to make a point about her safety, but the sizzling chemistry between them proved that two years of trying to put this woman behind him had been in vain. He’d better keep his guard up, or she’d make him forget his reasons for leaving Stagecoach.

Lucy pressed her fingertips to her lips and mumbled, “What did you do that for?”

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“Do you want to apologize?”

“Not really,” Tony said.

A woman like Lucy came along once in a man’s lifetime, and he’d blown his shot with her. Who was he kidding? Even if they had gone through with their plan to tell their parents about their relationship, Cal Durango would have made Tony’s life miserable until he’d broken up with Lucy. No way would the wealthy, prominent businessman have allowed Tony anywhere near his daughter.

“Tony.”

“What?”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“For what?”

“For ignoring me after Michael died.”

Tony tensed. He didn’t want to discuss this.

“Why didn’t you return my calls after his funeral?” she asked.

“I wasn’t in the right frame of mind.”

“Okay. I’ll buy that, but we were all grieving, Tony, and I really needed you.”

“I’m sorry.” The walls were closing in on him. “I couldn’t be with anyone.”

“I thought what we’d shared meant something to you.”

The wounded look on Lucy’s face squeezed his heart, but he remained silent. There wasn’t anything he could say in his defense.

“I felt so alone,” she said.

Not as alone as he had felt after he’d been banned from Michael’s funeral service. He’d gotten the message loud and clear—now that Michael was gone, Cal Durango had no use for Tony. In truth, he might have found the nerve to stand up to Durango and insist he was good enough for Lucy, but he didn’t have the right to after he’d ditched Michael in the bar. That decision had sealed Tony’s fate and convinced him that the best thing to do was to keep his distance from Lucy.

Unable to stop himself, Tony tucked a strand of blond hair behind Lucy’s ear. Maybe fate had brought them together again so he could apologize for Michael’s death—not that he expected an apology to absolve him of his sins. “I’m sorry, Lucy. Sorry Michael died.” Sorry things ended the way they did between us.

“Michael’s death still doesn’t feel real to me.”

Memories hurled Tony back in time. Lucy had phoned at 4:00 a.m. with the devastating news that her brother’s vehicle had run off the road and he’d been pronounced dead at the scene. Lucy had told him not to bother driving out to the crash, because medics had already taken Michael’s body to the hospital.

Tony hadn’t known what to do. His mother had been working the night shift at the truck stop and he was alone in the trailer. He’d paced the floor, wishing Lucy or Mrs. Durango would insist he mourn with them at the ranch. Not until his mother walked through the door several hours later had Tony broken down. When the day of the funeral arrived, he’d driven to the church, desperate for a final glimpse of his best friend, but Cal Durango had denied him even that.

The pressure building in Tony’s chest crushed his lungs. Forcing the words past his lips, he said, “It was my fault Michael died.”

Lucy sucked in a quiet breath. “It was not your fault, Tony.”

“I shouldn’t have left your brother at the bar.”

“Why did you?” Lucy squeezed his hand.

The truth wasn’t flattering. He’d been angry that Michael’s leap to the top of the standings meant Tony had to sacrifice being with Lucy in order to travel the circuit with Michael as he made a run for the National Finals Rodeo title. Don’t blame Michael. Tony could have quit rodeo but he hadn’t been able to walk away from the deep bond he’d shared with his best friend since childhood.

Tony spit out a lie. “I was tired and I didn’t feel like drinking that night.” He pulled his hand from Lucy’s—he didn’t deserve sympathy or compassion.

Lucy closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the seat. Tony regretted that the conversation upset her. “If I’d known that Michael intended to drink until he was wasted, I would have stuck it out at the bar with him.” His apology failed to make Tony feel better, which reinforced his belief that he didn’t deserve to be happy after what he’d done or, in this case, hadn’t done to prevent Michael’s death.

A shrill ring startled them. Lucy answered her cell phone. “Pony Express, Lucy speaking.” She tapped the truck horn and the waitress removed the food tray. Lucy put the truck into Reverse and backed out of the spot. “Not a problem. I’ll be there in thirty minutes or less.” She disconnected the call.

“Where to now?”

“Willie’s.”

Willie’s Wet Whistle had been a favorite haunt of Michael’s.

“The Cowboy Rebels are playing to a packed house and Carter—” Lucy looked both ways before pulling onto the road and heading back to the Saguaro Cactus Lounge “—said a couple of guys have reached their limit and he wants them gone before they pick a fight.”

“Carter should call the cops if his customers are giving him trouble.”

“He’d rather I haul the cowboys away than risk the sheriff’s deputy closing him down for the night.”

Tony hated the thought of Lucy alone on the road with drunken men.

She’s not your girl. You have no say in what she does.

Lucy turned into the lounge and parked next to the Pony Express van. Before they got out of his truck, he said, “Mind if I ride along with you tonight?” What the heck else did he have to do but go home and worry about Lucy’s safety?

“Okay.” Lucy smiled. “I doubt the passengers will give me any trouble with a border patrol agent riding shotgun.”

* * *

“YOU MISSED THE turnoff,” Tony said.

Shoot. Lucy had been thinking about Tony’s confession that he was to blame for Michael’s death. “Sorry.” She slowed the van, checked her mirrors and made a U-turn. She hadn’t believed she could feel any guiltier than she already did, but Tony’s admission twisted the screws tighter.

Tell him it isn’t his fault. Tell him it’s your fault.

Too late. The lot at Willie’s was jammed, so Lucy parked in front of the entrance—an oversize royal-blue door that sported a silhouette of a cowboy. The dance hall reminded Lucy of an airplane hangar—a windowless aluminum building with a rusty tin roof. Giant swamp coolers circulated damp air while the metal doors at both ends of the building had been rolled up, allowing the music to spill into the desert.

“Wait here,” Lucy said.

“Are you kidding? I want to see you in action.” Tony followed her into the bar.

Lucy winced at the loud music as she wove through the maze of sweaty bodies and worked her way up to the bar, where the owner poured drinks. Carter spotted her and nodded. The former Phoenix Cardinal linebacker had retired in Yuma and opened Willie’s five years ago. When Lucy reached him, he motioned to the guys sitting at a nearby table.

“Bobby Ray and Billy John,” Carter shouted above the noise. “Good luck.” He handed Lucy a set of keys.

Tony intercepted the pass and snatched the key ring.

“You hire a new driver?” Carter glanced between Lucy and Tony.

“Carter Hawkins…Tony Bravo,” Lucy said. They shook hands.

“I remember you,” Carter said. “You rode bulls with Lucy’s brother.”

“And you had a pretty good career with the Cardinals,” Tony said.