Alice Sharpe - Cowboy Incognito

“I didn’t get to attend much of it,” Kinsey admitted as she handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “You heard about the accident down the street?”

“I heard one of those courier guys went berserk and drove into a crowd of people,” Mr. Lee said as he counted out Kinsey’s change. “I can’t tell you how many times one has come close to clipping me.”

Kinsey gave Mr. Lee an abbreviated rundown of what had really happened, causing the man’s faint eyebrows to arch in surprise. But then his forehead wrinkled. “Did you say the victim wore a cowboy hat?”

“Yes, a tan Stetson. Why?”

Mr. Lee swore under his breath. “I knew there was something I wanted to tell you. A man was in the store earlier today. A cowboy. I swear, he stood right where you are asking questions about someone named Smith. Mary Smith. I think that was the name. Maybe it was Sherry. Anyway, I told him I didn’t know anyone by that name. Then he asked about Mr. Dodge’s housekeeper.”

“By name?”

“No. He called her a housekeeper.”

“What did you tell him?” Kinsey asked, trying to remain unflappable. She wasn’t sure Henry Lee knew she was even related to the Dodge housekeeper.

“I didn’t tell him anything. You have to understand that back in the day, Bill Dodge used his money to do a lot of good in this neighborhood for people like me. You’d have a hard time meeting a kinder man, and I wouldn’t send trouble his way for anything. He deserves to live out his life in peace, and as far as I’m concerned, that housekeeper of his allows that to happen. Without her to shoo people away, that worthless nephew of his would walk off with half the house. Anyway, the cowboy guy asked a couple of questions. He was holding up the line in back of him and people were getting restless. He asked about other contacts he could talk to. I recalled seeing you and the housekeeper chatting with each other one day—it’s the only time I ever saw that woman talk to anyone in here—so I wrote your name on a piece of paper and said you might know something. Frankly, I was trying to get rid of him. He got busy on his cell phone, I suppose looking you up, then he left. That’s it.”

“Did you indicate my connection to the gallery?”

“No. I just gave him your name and told him to phone you. You have to understand, it was really crowded in here. I didn’t have time to be answering questions, especially when the Gastner sisters started arguing about which one of them got the last box of beignet mix. Half my customers walked out. I completely forgot about the man until right now.”

“Did he mention any facts about himself? You know, like where he was from or his name, anything at all?”

“No. I don’t think so. I was kind of distracted.”

“You need to tell the police about this,” Kinsey said. “Ask to speak to Detective Woods.”

“I will.”

“It could be important,” she added. At least she wouldn’t have to make a list of her former clients now that this issue would be cleared up. “But maybe you could leave Mr. Dodge and his housekeeper out of it.”

“Gotcha,” he said with a nod. “I was going to do that anyway because I don’t want to trouble Bill.”

She left a few minutes later, her head swimming with all that had happened today and what it could possibly mean. Back in her car, she unwrapped the po’boy and took a bite. Was it possible Zane and Ryan were somehow connected, or was it coincidence that two men had asked questions about her mom on the same day and that one wasn’t responding to her calls and the other had come close to being killed?

Surely Ryan would realize Marc would report his questions to Kinsey. She was tempted to think it was out of character for Ryan to go behind her back, but truth be known, she wasn’t sure exactly what kind of character he had. He’d come on pretty strong, but now that she really thought of it, he hadn’t shared much about himself. She knew he was working on a levee project, but she didn’t know which one.

Seamlessly, she shifted gears to think about the man she’d given the name Zane, but for a second, she couldn’t get past his blue eyes. Paul Newman eyes, with the same frank evaluation going on behind them. It was pretty obvious now that he hadn’t wanted Kinsey to paint his portrait because he hadn’t asked Mr. Lee directly about her.

On the other hand, she knew just how she’d like to capture him if she did have the opportunity. The sexy twinkle of his eyes, the slight cleft in his chin, his cheekbones and lips. She’d pose him straight on, his rock-hard torso and broad shoulders encased in a trim T-shirt to reveal his muscular arms, head slightly bent forward, thinking about horses or tractors or engines or whatever it was a guy like him thought about when he contemplated life.

Like his wife? Like his girlfriend of thirteen years? How about his six kids?

Hey, this was a fantasy. She could give him any life she wanted because it was doubtful she’d ever see him again.

In fairness to both of them, he’d also exhibited traces of humor that appealed to her, and she hadn’t missed the speculative nature of his perusal of her. She knew he was brave and selfless because of the lightning-fast way he’d stepped in to save the little girl, and she knew he was resilient because of how quickly he was attempting to put this behind him and move on. How horrible it must be for a man of action to be frozen in one place and in one moment. It must be like walking out of a warm, cozy room into a blizzard and having the door slam and lock behind you.

Bill Dodge’s house was an old Victorian painted a ghastly purple that Kinsey imagined had actually improved as the sun faded the color and the trees matured and concealed the full impact of all that paint. The roofs were steep and Kinsey knew the top floor and attic were seldom used anymore. At eighty years and ailing, Mr. Dodge was too feeble to climb the stairs and slept in a downstairs room that had once been his den. Her mother slept in the housekeeper’s room located behind the kitchen. The arrangement seemed to work for both of them.

Kinsey climbed the stairs onto what had once been a beautiful wraparound deck, screened in for summer sleeping when the house was too hot. The screens were torn now and the deck was wobbly. The neighborhood was still good, and while this house had probably once upon a time been a showpiece, now it was like the poor, shabby relation. In some ways, the house reminded Kinsey of an elegant woman who slept on a park bench—still lovely, but rumpled, worn, tired.

At least there was a slight breeze blowing now, making the air bearable. Kinsey wished she’d gone home first to change out of her cocktail dress into shorts because she’d known the downstairs of this house could get stifling. Hopefully, she’d be out of here and on her way home in a few minutes. The day seemed to have lasted a week and she was tired.

Before she announced her presence, she took a deep breath. Dealing with her mom was never easy, and doing so when something had prompted her to call three times suggested trouble.

As Kinsey raised her hand to knock, the door flew open.

Chapter Three Contents Cover Excerpt Zane looked up at her. All the protective layers she’d erected that day teetered under the blue intensity of his gaze. After a long second, he crossed the short distance to her side in one step. He sat on the edge of her mattress. For several seconds they stared at each other. Kinsey felt as though she was going to explode. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said as he ran a lock of her hair through his fingers. “Of course, you always look beautiful.” “For all the good it does us,” she whispered. When he leaned over her and kissed her cheek, she turned her face. “Don’t.” “Sorry,” he said, and slowly sat up. He didn’t leave, however, just sat there, still and silent, one hand on her shoulder as he stared into the room. Finally he looked down at her again. “Last night I asked you to give me one more day. That day is now over. I think you should drive away tomorrow and let me finish this.” Title Page Cowboy Incognito Alice Sharpe www.millsandboon.co.uk About the Author ALICE SHARPE met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing. Dedication This book is dedicated to the newest member of our family, Tyler Lawrence Shumate. Live long and prosper, sweetie. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Extract Copyright