Read Faith in the Cowboy (Taming the Cowboy) Online
Authors: Emma Jay
Faith in the Cowboy (Taming the Cowboy) (18 page)
She hadn’t been particularly receptive to his charm when she interviewed him after the incident on the mountain, but he knew how to work around that.
He returned to his seat and ordered his own beer, with a guilty glance down the bar at Beth.
Oh, hell. Beth’s head was bowed, and the friend was talking to two men and pointing in his direction. Two big men, and one met his gaze head-on. His gut clenched. Terrific. Sinclair would not like it if he got in another bar fight. At least this time his crew wouldn’t go down with him.
Deacon straightened as the two men strode the length of the bar toward him. He considered meeting them on his feet, but figured that might seem confrontational. So he kept one elbow on the bar and turned to face them.
“Our sister isn’t good enough for you?” the bigger blond guy bellowed.
Well, crap. He’d gone and hurt baby sister’s feelings.
“You think you’re some kind of hot shot?” the other guy accused.
In retrospect, Deacon figured he shouldn’t have pointed to the emblem on the back of his shirt. “That’s exactly what I think I am.”
The brothers got in two punches—eye and gut—before Deacon got off the stool with reflexes honed from growing up with four brothers. He hit something, because his knuckles struck bone, before a hand was pushing at his chest, and he looked down into the grim dark eyes of Cheyenne Culpepper.
Probably he shouldn’t have grinned at her, because Brother Number One took another shot and split his cheek. That didn’t hurt as bad as Cheyenne turning her attention away from him and to the bigger guy.
“Tim, what did I say would happen if I caught you picking a fight here again?”
The giant, answering to Tim, set his jaw mulishly. “He started it.”
Cheyenne looked over her shoulder at Deacon, brows raised as if she could believe that.
“I refused a drink from a lady,” he said evenly. “I didn’t want to encourage her.”
Cheyenne turned back to the smaller giant. “Beth?” she asked with a weary sigh.
“He made her cry,” the younger brother declared.
“Like that’s hard to do.” She dropped her hands to her side and turned her attention to the young woman standing at the edge of the crowd. Beth’s cheeks pinkened and her eyes filled. Cheyenne patted her arm. “Not your fault. You’re just used to manipulating your brothers to jump to your defense.”
“Hey!” The girl jerked away from Cheyenne’s touch.
Cheyenne turned to Deacon. “Let’s get that taken care of.” She gestured to the cut on his cheek.
“Isn’t there a doctor in town?”
“On vacation. And she’s his nurse.” She nodded to Beth, who lifted her chin as if daring him to allow her hands on him.
“Don’t worry,” Cheyenne said, taking his arm and guiding him through the crowd toward the door. “I’ve done this before. I won’t mess up your pretty face.”
He could decline and just head over to first aid at the fire camp. But if Cheyenne was going to do it, well, that meant getting her hands on him in close proximity. He could work with that. He followed her down the sidewalk and across the street.
“How is it you know how to stitch someone up?” he asked when she unlocked the front door of the sheriff’s office, flicked on the light and led him inside.
“I was a paramedic in my former life.” She motioned to a hard wooden rolling chair across from her desk. He sat in it when she crossed the beige cinder-block-walled room to a door and disappeared behind it.
He looked around the neat office. He’d noticed when he was here day before yesterday, after the fire blew up, threatening a pot field and the men guarding it. The men had taken him and his friend Chris at gunpoint and forced them to cut a fireline, which had ultimately done no good. Cheyenne had brought him down to question him about the men who disappeared after the fire.
But yeah, looking around the room, dull as it was, he could tell the sheriff was a woman. Things were organized, and not in state-issued baskets or cubbies, either, but neat little shelves and file holders. Even the notices on the wall were pinned neatly.
“What do you mean, former life?” he asked when she stepped out of what he presumed was a bathroom, with a wet washcloth and a first aid box.
She set the items on top of the battered wooden desk—real wood, not particle board—and dragged her own chair from behind her desk to sit beside him and clean the wound, her movements gentle but sure.
Damn, she was beautiful, smooth olive skin, full lips, long eyelashes. He didn’t think she was wearing make-up. He wanted to taste those lips, feel her long straight hair fall against his skin. His dick responded to the fantasy, and he didn’t try to corral his thoughts, just went with it.
“Before I met Danny and moved up here, I was an EMT in Sacramento.”
“Met Danny?” Those words brought his fantasy to a screeching halt.
She flicked her gaze to his. “My husband.”
“You’re married?” The words came out too loud as his dick shriveled.
“Widowed. Danny was the sheriff. He was killed in a car accident on the mountain two years ago.” This time her gaze lingered on his. “He was on his way to clear an accident and went off the road in the snow.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, reading regret and anger in her clear eyes.
She stepped back, her attention on his wound. “I don’t think you need stitches.”
The change of subject put him off-balance. He watched her rifle through the box and present a butterfly bandage.
“We’ll just put on a couple of these and that should do the trick.”
Bandages. She was going to put bandages on him. That would take, what, twenty seconds, tops?
“You sure? I’m very proud of my face.”
She drew back to look at him, deadpan. “I can tell.”
“It’s a good face.”
She merely grunted as she smoothed a bandage over skin a little more sensitive than he wanted to admit.
“You really want me to stick a needle in your face when I have nothing to numb it with? And you’re trusting my sewing skills.”
“You were a paramedic,” he reminded her.
She sighed and rummaged for a needle and thread, making a point to thread the hooked needle right in front of him. He swallowed. He could endure a couple of pricks for a few more minutes with her. Right?
He needed to take his mind off what she was about to do. “So how did you get the gig of sheriff?”
She pulled off the butterfly bandage, none too gently. “When Danny died, I was elected.”
When the needle bit into his skin and slid through, he winced. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through. “With no background in law.”
“Other than being a lawman’s wife, no. I think they didn’t want to go looking, have to pay moving costs for someone to settle up here. Like you said, middle of nowhere.”
He gritted his teeth together in preparation for the next slide of the needle. “Did you want to be sheriff?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I like this town. Being sheriff has made me more a part of it. And they loved Danny. Loved him. Making me sheriff was their way of showing I belong.” She slid the needle through again. “How long have you been a firefighter?”
“This is my twelfth season.”
She stilled and looked down at him. “You don’t look old enough.”
“I am.”
“So what made you want to do this job?”
He met her gaze steadily. “Would you believe I was sentenced to be a hot shot?”
Her hands rested on his cheek. “Sentenced?”
“Stole a car when I was sixteen. The judge was big on redirection, and she gave me a choice, juvie or the mountains. I took the mountains, and fell in love with the job.”
She got back to work, pulling the thread tight. “What did your parents say about that choice?”
“At that point, they were glad someone was taking me off their hands. They weren’t quite sure what to do with me at that point. They were mostly relieved.”
“That had to suck.”
Boy, had it, but he was responsible enough to know he’d led them to that point. Some of the fences had been mended, but not all. None of them were too heartbroken about that.
“I didn’t think you could be a hot shot at sixteen.”
“At first, I did shit jobs. I got to go on a couple of fires, but nothing major. But I got the bug. And didn’t get a record.”
“So why’d you steal a car?” She tied off the thread and snipped it close to his face.
“Impress a girl.”
“Did it work?”
“Until we got pulled over and I got taken away in cuffs.” He grinned. “Since then, I’ve been fascinated by handcuffs.” He tapped the ones on her belt.
She stepped back and walked behind her desk, just when he would have closed his hands around her waist and drawn her close. Huh. She might not have the background, but she had the instincts.
“You’re good to go.” Her tone turned brisk.
He rose slowly, not wanting to risk her shying away. “I thought maybe we could have dinner. I was waiting for you when Beth sent me a drink.”
“Waiting for me?” Her gaze snapped to his.
“Thought about you the past two days when I was up there on the line.” He crossed to the desk and leaned on it, liking that he was making her blush. She’d looked down again, shuffling papers. He got the sense she was working on control. “Your pretty hair, that gorgeous smile. I would love to have dinner with you.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Why? Because I have a history with the law?”
“Because I’m the sheriff. I don’t go on dates.”
He straightened. She was making him work for this, he’d give her that. “I won’t be around long. Once this fire is contained, we’re on to the next one.”
“That’s not better.”
“Okay, so what? We order in?”
She met his gaze again. “You go on, back to camp or back to Johnny’s, I don’t care. And I get my dinner and go home.”
He’d been rejected before, sure, a few times, but he never had gotten used to it. Still, he knew better than to press when a woman carried a gun. He backed toward the door.
“Thanks for the stitches, then. If you change your mind, well, I’ll be up on the mountain.”
“I won’t,” she said, her voice firm, so he turned and walked out the door.