Once a Cowboy (6 page)

“People do strange things sometimes in the name of love.”

“It’s greed and selfishness, not love.”

She wouldn’t debate that. She was just glad they were talking. On a whim she decided to share the Braxton case with him.

“You remember the missing baby case I was working?”

“Sure. A waste of time,” he replied around a mouthful of food.

“No, it wasn’t. The man Mrs. Braxton believed was her son really is her biological son.”

He stopped chewing. “You got to be kidding.”

“No.”

Buck took a swallow of his beer. “How old is this man?”

“He’ll be forty in October.”

“Why in the hell does the Braxton woman want to tear apart his life now?”

Alex was taken aback by this reaction. “Because someone stole her baby and she has to know that he’s alive and well.”

“Doesn’t she realize what she’s doing to his life?”

“Buck,” she said, trying to reason with him, “losing a baby is a traumatic thing, something a woman never gets over. Even though Mrs. Braxton was able to go on with her life, her missing son was always at the back of her mind. That’s why Brodie Hayes’s photo in the paper triggered her hope again. She’s lost two other sons. Brodie is her only living boy. The need to see him is never going away.”

“You women have all these emotions that us men just aren’t equipped with. We look at the facts. Once you get the emotions involved everything goes to hell.”

“I get involved. I admit that. I’m more sensitive than I should be for a cop or a private investigator.”

He pointed his knife at her. “You get that from your mother.”

They never talked about Joan and she welcomed this opportunity. “My mother was sensitive and caring?”

“Damn right. Waterworks was a regular display and when it was that time of the month, hell, I stayed out of the house.”

“Did you ever hold her and tell her you understood?”

His eyebrows knotted together like a rope. “Hell, no, ’cause I didn’t understand why every little thing made her cry.”

“What did she cry about?” She might be pressing her luck, but she wanted to hear more.

“When I didn’t call and tell her I was going to be late. I was a cop and couldn’t call her every few minutes. She cried when I forgot her birthday, and the waterworks lasted a week when I forgot our anniversary.”

“She had reasons to cry. That’s just plain insensitive.”

“But that’s me, girl, and you know it. Your mother knew it, too, when she married me. Don’t know why she wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. Don’t know what she saw in me in the first place, but I was so crazy about her that it didn’t matter. She was different than I was. Maybe that’s why I fell for her. She was this gentle, soft-spoken woman who never saw the bad in anyone.”

“Maybe she saw some good in you.”

“Could be, but she had to look hard for it.”

Her heart filled with joy at this wonderful glimpse of her mother. Alex had heard precious little about her all these years.

“You never talk about her.”

He shrugged.

“A man thing, huh?”

“You got it. Talking is a woman thing.” He took another swallow of his beer. “Speaking of women—when the hell is Naddy coming back?”

“When she runs out of money.”

“God. I shouldn’t have to raise my mother.”

“Naddy can take care of herself. You told me that.”

“Mmm.”

There was silence for a moment and it wasn’t uncomfortable like in the past. That easy companionship felt surreal since she’d wished for it so many times as a kid.

“So how did Mrs. Braxton take the news that this Brodie Hayes is her son?”

Alex laid her fork down. Back to business. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why?”

“I’m giving Brodie time to accept the situation.”

His eyes narrowed. “Brodie? Are you involved with this man?”

She met his eyes squarely. “By involved do you mean attracted to, sleeping with or generally making a fool of myself?”

“All of the above,” he snapped.

“I just feel this man’s pain. That’s all.”

“Good grief, you’re just like Joan. Get your head on straight. We run an investigating agency and our clients put a lot of trust in us. Mrs. Braxton is our client and she is your first priority. Get on that phone and call her this instant.”

She slowly stood, throwing her napkin onto her plate. “This is my case and I will handle it my way.” She gritted her teeth and counted to three. “A lot of lives will be changed when the DNA results are revealed so I’m taking it slow. If you have a problem with that, you can take me off the payroll.”

“Now you listen here…”

Alex grabbed her purse and headed for the door. So much for a nice evening. Buck had turned into his usual controlling, manipulative…No wonder her mother cried a lot. She felt like crying now. But she wouldn’t.

She jumped into her Jeep and sat for a moment. How could one man make her doubt every decision she’d ever made? Buck wasn’t getting to her this time. She’d made the right decision concerning Brodie and Mrs. Braxton.

As she backed out of the driveway, she wondered how Brodie was taking the news of the second test. Pulling to the curb, she poked out his number. No answer. He either wasn’t home or not taking calls. She
had to tell him she was informing Mrs. Braxton in the morning of the DNA findings so she headed for the freeway and Mesquite.

When Alex drove up to Brodie’s ranch, everything was in darkness except for a couple of spotlights at the corrals. Through the beams of the light, she saw the dogs running toward the Jeep. She got out.

“Hey, guys, where’s your master?”

One of the dogs barked and she had no idea if it was Buck or Butch. Since he was the mouthy one she decided it was Buck. Sensing she wasn’t a danger or threat they trotted back to the barn.

She breathed in the fresh country air. A coyote howled in the distance and an owl hooted. She wasn’t used to living in the country. The hum of traffic, horns honking and curse words hurled through the air were the usual night sounds in her world. But here was a peacefulness as comforting and pleasant as a hug from an old friend. She liked Brodie’s ranch.

Her thoughts came back to him. Where was Brodie? He’d gotten the report so what would a stubborn hardheaded cowboy do?

Go home to confront his mother.
She crawled back
into the Jeep and reached for a phone book she kept in the backseat. Actually, she had several books for different towns around Dallas. They were very useful for finding people and places quickly. Flipping through it she found Claudia Hayes’s name and her address. Great. She knew the street. It was in a subdivision not too far away.

Thirty minutes later she drove by the house. Lights were on and the garage door was closed. No big white truck in sight. She drove by once again to make sure she hadn’t missed it. Brodie wasn’t there.

She wasn’t sure why she had to find him tonight, but she was compelled to confront him. The second test had to have hit him like a ton of bricks. Where would he go to nurse his wounds? Where would a cowboy go when he was down?

A bar. A honky-tonk, good-time bar.

She grabbed the phone book again. There were several places in Fort Worth where cowboys hung out, but she was betting that Brodie hadn’t gone that far. Stopping for a light, she thumbed to the yellow pages and ran her eyes down the list of nightclubs and bars. Good grief. This could take days.

How could she cut down the list? Reaching for her cell phone, she poked out a number.

“Hey, Dudley, this is Alex.”

“Hey there, good-looking. What can I do you for?”

Dudley was one of her information sources. He knew everything there was to know about Dallas and Fort Worth, including some things he shouldn’t know.

“I’m looking for a bar or nightclub in Dallas where cowboys hang out.”

“Ah, honey, those cowboys’ll do you in. They love their horses more than they’ll ever love a woman.”

“Don’t be asinine. This is business.”

“Mmm. You got a pencil and paper?”

Alex dug in her purse, turned a corner and pulled to the curb. Dudley spouted out several clubs and she marked them in the book.

“Thanks, Dud.”

“Now, honey, if you want a good ride, look no further than Dud the man.”

“You just never give up.” Alex laughed. Dudley was her father’s age, but he was always coming on to her. It was one of his quirky habits and she always ignored him.

“Not when there’s a pretty lady involved.”

“Good night, Dudley.”

She heard his laugh as she clicked off.

B
Y THE TIME
she found the fourth bar and Brodie’s truck wasn’t there, she was beginning to wonder if she had him pegged wrong. Maybe he wasn’t licking his wounds. Maybe he had accepted the fact that DNA didn’t lie.

That wasn’t her impression of him, though. Brodie would not take this well. The fifth bar was Boots and Spurs and she drove around the block, looking for the truck. Bingo. There it was. Her instincts were right. Another truck backed out and she took the parking spot.

Now what? She could wait for him to come out or go in.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and got out, making sure her gun was within easy reach. Not that she
planned on using it, but going into a bar alone after midnight was always a risk.

Opening the door, she stepped into the dimly lit, smoke-filled room. A Willie Nelson song played loudly on a jukebox and couples moved around the small dance floor, clinging to each other. Other couples sat at tables and booths. Several cowboys were bellied up to a horseshoe-shaped bar. Every cowboy had his hat on. Evidently drinking and dancing did not require a cowboy to remove his hat. She spotted Brodie at the end of the bar with a brunette leaning in close, talking to him.

She started to back out, but stopped. The brunette kissed his cheek and walked to a table. Alex weaved her way through the crowd to him. A cowboy stopped her.

“Hey, there, blondie. How about a dance?”

“No, thanks. I’m here to see someone.” He followed her gaze to Brodie.

“You’re out of luck, blondie. Brodie ain’t in the mood tonight. Get my drift.” He winked.

“Thanks for the information.” She winked back and pushed past him to Brodie’s left side. He didn’t turn, just kept drinking a beer.

“Hi,” she said.

“I told you I’m not…” His words trailed off as he saw who was talking to him.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite P.I.”

“Could I speak with you, please?”

The music was so loud she wasn’t sure if he’d answered or not, but from the look in his blue eyes she knew what his answer was.

“Another beer, Joe,” Brodie said to the bartender. “And bring one for the lady.”

“No, thanks,” Alex quickly replied.

Brodie pushed back his hat and turned to her. “Lady, I figure I’m all done talking.”

“This’ll only take a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute.” Brodie glanced at the bartender. “Joe, where’s my damn beer?”

“Sorry, I’m not serving you anymore, Brodie. You’ve had enough. I suggest you get someone to drive you home.”

“Hell, Joe, when did you get a conscience?”

“Go home, Brodie.”

Brodie pulled his hat low over his eyes and strolled toward the door. He bumped into several people and they moved out of his way. Alex followed him out into the warm night air. Reaching into his pocket for his keys, Brodie stumbled into a truck. Alex knew she couldn’t let him drive in his inebriated state.

When he managed to fish out the keys, she grabbed them.

“Hey. What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not driving in your condition.”

“Like hell.” He made a dive for the keys, tripped and fell against her. Under his weight she staggered backward into a vehicle, managing to keep them both upright. He was heavy, but something about his weight on her body and his musky male scent sent her senses into overdrive.

“God, I’m drunk,” he mumbled, his breath fanning her hair.

“Yes, you are,” she agreed. “Try to stand and I’ll drive you home.”

“You smell good—like ripe watermelon in the summertime.” Not the most flattering of compliments, but his whiskey breath felt like a kiss on her heated skin.

“Try to stand,” she said again, ignoring her feminine reaction.

He placed one hand on the truck and pushed upright.

She took his arm. “Come on. My Jeep’s over here.” Without one word of protest, he followed her. She opened the door and he slumped onto the seat, his feet still on the pavement.

“Brodie, put your feet inside,” she said, but he didn’t respond.

She picked up his boots and swung them around. Problem—his legs were too long and she couldn’t wedge them in. Holding his legs with one hand, she reached for the seat-adjuster knob with the other. The seat slid back. She still had a problem.

“How long are your legs?”

He had a silly grin on his face and she wasn’t sure he was conscious. Finally she managed to slide the boots inside. He then scooted up.

“Now you help.”

He leaned his head against the head-rest and by his steady breathing she knew he was out cold. Leaving the door open, she ran back inside and told the bartender they were leaving Brodie’s truck for the night.

Hurrying outside, she closed his door and jumped into the driver’s seat. All the way to the ranch he never woke up. When they arrived, she drove as close to the
back door as she could get. Getting him out of the Jeep and into the house was going to be another problem.

She opened his door and shook him. “Brodie, wake up. You’re home.” She did that three times before he stirred. “Stay awake,” she said, pulling his feet out. “We have to walk to the door. Put your arm around my neck.”

He drifted back to sleep.

“Brodie,” she shouted.

He blinked.

“Try to stand and put your arm around my neck. And stay awake.”

After a couple of attempts, he managed to get to his feet, his body swaying back and forth. She grabbed him and he gripped her around the neck. Slowly they made their way to the door.

It was locked. Damn. She heaved a deep breath and loosened her hold on him so she could dig in her pocket for his car keys, hoping his house key was on the ring. The dogs came to investigate, barking at a slumped Brodie.

“Hush,” she said. Since it was dark she didn’t have a clue what was a car key and what was a house key. Maintaining her hold on Brodie, she used the trial-and-error method. The first key wouldn’t fit. The second worked. She felt like cheering.

Pushing the door wide, they half staggered and half walked inside. She kicked the door closed with her foot. The house was in total darkness and she had no idea where the light switches were.

Brodie’s weight became heavier, as did his breathing. “Stay awake,” she said, feeling on the wall for a
switch. After several clumsy tries she found one and flipped it. Light lit up the breakfast room. After the darkness it took a while for her eyes to adjust, but now she could see where they were going.

They made the trek through the den, down a hall and into his bedroom. Moonlight streamed through the windows. She stopped by the side of the bed and turned him. As if sensing what she wanted him to do, he fell backward onto the bed.

Gulping in deep breaths, she rubbed her aching arms and stretched her tired back. This wasn’t in her job description. She looked down at the sleeping cowboy. Now what? She couldn’t leave him like this with his feet hanging off the bed.

Once again she picked up his boots and swung his legs around. Now his feet hung off the bed because he wasn’t positioned correctly. There wasn’t anything she could do about that. She stared down at his feet. He’d probably sleep better without his boots. How do you remove a cowboy’s boots?

Mmm. Very carefully, she supposed.

With both hands, she grabbed a boot and pulled to no avail. Damn. Were they glued on? She placed her foot against the bed for leverage and tried again. She yanked with all her strength. The boot came off so suddenly that she lost her footing and fell backward to the carpet on her butt. But she had the boot in her hand.

Never one to do things halfway, she got to her feet and grabbed the other boot. This time she was prepared and maintained her balance. She placed both boots by the bed. She made to leave but thought he looked so un
comfortable. Grabbing a pillow, she stuffed it beneath his head. That was better.

Her hand went to undo the buttons on his shirt, but as soon as her fingers touched his masculine skin she drew back. She wouldn’t go that far. He wouldn’t appreciate it. Giving him one last look, she walked to the den.

She didn’t feel right leaving and she still needed to talk to him. Without a second thought, she marched back to the bedroom and grabbed the other pillow. She’d sleep on the sofa. In the morning they’d discuss the DNA test.

B
RODIE WOKE UP
to thunder and realized it was inside his head. Oh, man. He clutched his head with both hands. What the hell? Patches of foggy memory began to drift across his aching brain.

After talking to his mother, he’d stopped in at the Boots and Spurs. He had a beer, then another and another. He’d had some whiskey in there, too. The more he drank, the better he felt.

He sat up and saw that he was hanging off part of the bed. At least he’d made it home and managed to remove his boots. He needed coffee, lots of coffee. As he stood, the room swayed and he sat back down. What a mess. He hadn’t been that drunk in a long time.

Before he stopped at the bar, he drove around unable to get the DNA test out of his mind. All of his life he’d known exactly who he was—Thomas and Claudia Hayes’s son, their cowboy disappointment. Now he wasn’t so sure. Doubts mingled with fact and fiction. Who was he?

Light-headed, he made his way down the hall. His
one goal was to make a pot of strong coffee, but then he realized he had to use the bathroom. A quick stop and he proceeded to the den. He stopped short at the sight on his couch.

A woman lay on her stomach, her blond hair splayed across a pillow. Jeans molded her perfect bottom and sneakers lay tumbled on the floor. She was sound asleep.

Alex Donovan.

He vaguely remembered her at the bar. Bits and pieces filtered through the fog. She’d taken his keys so she must have driven him home. Where in the hell was his truck?