Red's Hot Cowboy (5 page)

Pearl smiled at Austin. “It’s the Christmas from hell and it ain’t shapin’ up to get any better. I was telling Rye to tell you that I was sorry I had to steal him away from you on your first Christmas together. Digger is in room one. Door is open.”

“I’ll get him, darlin’, and meet you back at the truck,” Rye said.

Austin watched Rye swagger out the door. “Ain’t nobody stealing that handsome hunk away from me. If he goes to Wil’s ranch then I go with him. I brought you a bottle of Lanier Wine.” She set it on the cabinet. “It’s still Granny’s makings. Mine won’t be ready to taste until springtime, but it’s going to be just as good as this is. Everything went perfect when I was making it. What did you think about Wil? Ain’t he the hottest cowboy you’ve ever seen?”

“Thank you! I may drink the whole thing in one setting! And I thought your new husband, Rye, was the hottest cowboy in the world. And Wil just got hauled to the jailhouse for murder. That definitely seals the part about him being a bad boy, doesn’t it?”

“Rye is the hottest, but Wil comes in a close second, and honey, Wil didn’t kill anyone. He might have a little bit of bad boy in him, but he wouldn’t hurt a woman. That much I know. It’s a big mistake and he’ll be home by noon. Come on over to Ringgold with us and spend the day with Rye’s folks. There’s food and music and presents,” Austin said.

“I can’t. I’ve got laundry and cleaning for the whole motel. Electricity went out in Henrietta last night. Every single room was full. Thanks anyway.”

“You haven’t replaced Rosa?” Austin asked.

“Didn’t need to until now. Another night or two like last night and I’ll have to hire two cleaning women.”

Austin patted her shoulder. “Well, if you get it all done by supper, come on over. I hate for you to spend the whole holiday alone.”

“After last night, alone is very, very good.”

“I can’t believe words like that are coming out of your mouth. You still got the crown for being the biggest party girl in Texas, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but here lately it’s getting pretty tarnished. I haven’t been to a party or even out on a date since I inherited this place.” Pearl sighed.

***

Wil waited in an interrogation room with his right wrist cuffed to a ring in the table. They insisted he knew some woman by the name of Starla, but he had no idea who they were talking about. His dark brows knit together above shut brown eyes. Surely, if he thought long and hard, he’d remember the woman. Was she a rodeo groupie that he’d met in passing? Or did she work at the Dairy Queen in Henrietta at one time?

He was deep in thought when a detective slapped a file on the table and pulled up a chair across from him. He opened up an ink pad and motioned for Wil to put his fingers on it. Wil gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“My prints are on file. Have been since I turned pro at bull riding, and besides, I’ve got an alibi. I was at the Longhorn Inn all night. I don’t know who got killed or who you think I am, but I did not do it.”

“Can you verify without a doubt that you were in that motel then? Was someone with you? It’s less than half an hour to Wichita Falls. You could have easily snuck out and back in.”

“Call the motel owner.”

“You sleep with her.”

“Call her or give me a phone and I’ll call my lawyer. I’m innocent and we can save a lot of time and money if you’ll just call the motel.”

The detective got up slowly and meandered out of the room as if he had all day. Wil was running on no sleep, no breakfast, and his patience had played out a long time before. He fumed and waited. His stomach growled and he waited. He laid his head down on his forearms and shut his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come no matter how tired he was so he waited some more.

Finally, when he thought he’d go stark raving mad sitting cooped up in a room barely bigger than a two-hole outhouse, the detective poked his head back in the door. “Ready to talk?”

Wil shot him a dirty look and the detective shut the door.

Two hours later the door opened again and the detective opened the cuff from the ring in the table. “Our apologies. We made a big mistake. You are Wilson Marshall. We were looking for William Marshall. You both go by Wil with one
l
so…” He shrugged.

“Am I free to go?” Wil’s tone was as cold as the walls of the room.

“Yes, there’s a red-haired woman out there by the name of Pearl Richland who said there was no doubt you were in the motel all night. Besides, your truck has four flat tires this morning, and the forensic team that went over the room and your truck says that it was sitting right there all night from the sleet that’s piled up around those flat tires. Too bad we didn’t catch the mistake. We wasted several hours of time at the motel.”

“Not to mention several hours of my time. Did Red bring me some clothes?”

The detective nodded toward the window and a female officer brought his duffel bag into the room.

“My cell phone?”

“In the bag.”

Wil opened the bag and took out jeans, a shirt, and his boots. He was so tickled to see his jeans that he vowed to sleep in them the rest of his life.

“You know a William Marshall? About your age. Dark hair and eyes.”

Wil shook his head.

“He’s from over in your area and he’s a cowboy,” the officer went on.

“Don’t know him. Never met him. Never want to meet him. Don’t know a woman named Starla. Can I get dressed now?”

The detective nodded. “There’s a men’s room right outside in the hallway. When you are ready I’ll escort you to the front door. Your billfold and everything the team found in the motel is in your bag there.”

Wil left the jumpsuit on the floor when he changed into his own familiar clothing. He shoved his cell phone down into his shirt pocket. Four flat tires? How in the devil had that happened? Who would have flattened his tires?

Those little girls you didn’t play house with,
his conscience said bluntly.
Little hussies snuck out and let the air out of the tires. Betcha anything all you have to do is air them up and they’ll be fine.

“Women! Young or old!” he said to the haggard reflection in the mirror.

“Ready?” the man asked when he was out in the hallway again.

“I am.”

He led the way down one hall to the end and through another, finally ending in an almost empty room where Pearl Richland sat in a folding chair against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I’m damn sure not here by choice. I had to leave my job to come convince these people that there wasn’t any way you left the motel last night. I’ll take you back with me or you can walk. I don’t give a damn what you do.”

“Which way to your car or truck or horse and buggy?” Wil asked when they were finally outside the police station.

“Follow me.”

She led him to a 1959 Caddy Eldorado Seville. The light brown and ecru two-tone paint job looked like it had just rolled off the factory floor. She used a key to unlock the door and then reached across the white leather seats and undid the passenger’s door.

Wil had the urge to pinch himself to see if he was in the middle of a nightmare. First getting accused of murder and now being escorted home by a gorgeous redhead driving a vintage car. His world was upside down and inside out, but the cold door handle said he wasn’t dreaming.

“Where did you get this thing?” he asked.

“It was Aunt Pearlita’s. I’ve loved this old boat of a car since I was a little girl. Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Pretty? This thing is priceless. It should be in a showroom, not on the street.”

She fired up the engine and turned on the heater. “Aunt Pearlita said things weren’t worth shit if you didn’t use them. She took care of it but she used it. That’s what I’m going to do.”

It was an old boat of a car compared to modern vehicles and drank gas like it still cost less than fifty cents a gallon. It had tail fins sporting two extra taillights that looked like alien’s eyes. The backseat was wide enough to haul around half a dozen kids or four adults. And it was the first car Wil had ever sat in that he didn’t have to kiss his knees.

Pearl’s curiosity got the best of her when they were out of town and headed east toward Henrietta. “Why did they think you’d murdered that woman, and who is she?”

“It was a big mistaken identity. William Marshall is the one they are looking for. My name just happened to be close to his. Damn, this is a comfortable car. You want to sell it?”

“Honey, there ain’t enough money in the world or dirt in Texas to buy this car,” Pearl said.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, I want first bid on it. Did Rye come get my dog?”

Pearl nodded. “He’s back on your ranch, chasin’ rabbits or layin’ up on the porch waitin’ on you or whatever it is that dogs do on Christmas Day, and I won’t change my mind about the car.”

He stole a long glance at her. Damn she was pretty, but he’d always been a sucker for red hair. Those freckles across her nose begged to be kissed, and he could swim in her green eyes. “I’d buy you breakfast to say thanks for getting me out of this mess if there was a place open.”

“You hungry?” she asked.

Just sitting beside him sent off a string of electrical jolts that she had only felt one time before. She and Vince had gotten together after he’d dived into his rebellious stage. He had a motorcycle, tattoos, and a diamond earring as big as a butter bean. Her mother said he had been a good boy his whole life until his senior year in high school. And then he’d done a three-sixty and was nothing but trouble.

And that was one time Tess Richland had been totally right.

After graduation night, they’d spent a night in a motel celebrating being real adults. They’d both lost their virginity that night and she had visions of a diamond ring after a couple of years of college, followed by a white wedding dress. But he kissed her good night at the door and she never saw him again. Last she heard he was in Africa. She’d cried for a week and her mother didn’t even gloat, bless her heart.

She shook the memory out of her head and glanced over at Wil.

Oh, shit! This ain’t fair!
Even with scruff on his face and dressed in yesterday’s jeans and shirt, he was sexy as hell and made her hot as…
What was it that Mark Chestnut said in that song about being hot? Oh, yeah, hot as two rats in heat inside an old wool sock. Well, those two varmints don’t have any idea about heat.

He yawned. “Pardon me. I’m starved. They brought me a bottle of water, but no one offered breakfast.”

“The Valero station in Jolly is open. I saw folks going in and out on my way over to Wichita Falls. You can get a donut and some coffee, and it’s the next exit,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Did that hurt?” she asked.

“What?”

“Sayin’ thank you to me?”

“Yes, it did, but I do appreciate what you’ve done.”

“Good. I want it to hurt because I’m wasting my time. I had a full house last night and every room has to be cleaned. Don’t look like that. I really, really want to lay a guilt trip on you.”

“Well, Red, you’re doin’ a fine job of that. I am sorry that I’m taking you away from your job.”

She shook her finger under his nose. “I told you not to call me Red! I hate that nickname.”

He grabbed her hand and put it back on the steering wheel. “It takes both hands to drive a car like this. I bet it doesn’t even have power steering.”

The touch of his callused hand wrapped around hers made her suck air. “You don’t know jack squat about my ability to drive or this car, and you better not call me Red again or you are going to be using the old boot leather express to get your sorry ass the rest of the way home.”

“Whew! You got a temper to go with that hair, don’t you?” He chuckled to cover up the sizzle bouncing around in the car. He had the sudden desire to grab her hand again just to see what kind of reaction he’d get.

“And don’t you forget it!”

She was careful to keep both her hands on the steering wheel. She’d left all three washers and dryers loaded and running, but it wasn’t a deep desire to fold sheets and towels that made her threaten to throw him out on the side of the road. And calling her Red wasn’t the reason either. It was the visual she got when he crawled into her vintage Caddy, with his dark hair tousled back with a fingertip combing, scruff on his sexy face, and those damn tight fittin’ jeans. She’d had to blink away the urge to reach across the front seat and run her fingers through his hair and to see up close and personal just how hot those lips were. His touch on her hand did not throw ice water on the vision but took it to the next level.

She made herself erase that picture from her mind and think about the motel. Six rooms had been cleaned and were ready to rent. That left nineteen to do and she’d lost two hours driving to Wichita Falls, swearing on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as well as her great-aunt Pearlita’s good name, that there was no way in hell that Wil had gone to Wichita Falls the night before.