Steal Me, Cowboy (2 page)

“Buster’s fine, Adam, but we’ve got problems”

“Come on, Rainey.” He looked at me, trying to make me smile. “Don’t do this. I don’t have much time.” He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “Come here.” He reached for me, but I pulled away and sat down on the couch, which he thought was an invitation. He sat down next to me and pulled me onto his lap. His breath was on my neck, his lips by my ear. “I need this.” He was talking, unbuttoning my shirt slowly making me weaker by the second. “You need—this.”

I needed.
I needed Adam. I needed Adam to commit. I needed a relationship that didn’t consist of sporadic visits over four years. Phone sex just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. No wonder I was always distracted by the real thing.

And what in the hell did Montana mean? Did it mean more of the same? Ever since I’d known Adam, he’d always had roommates or couch surfed, but now he had rented a house by himself? It sounded like he was putting down roots. And lucky me, I could visit.

“Stop.” I pushed off of him and wiped his kisses away. “You took this job without even talking to me. You rented a house, which you never do.”

“I wanted to surprise you, babe.”

Consider me surprised. Floored. “I love you, Adam. I do. I understood when your playing baseball kept us apart. I wanted you to chase your dreams.” Even though I’d been to at least a dozen of those stupid baseball weddings complete with the bride and groom walking under an arch of baseball bats. Some of those marriages made it, most of them didn’t, but at least they tried. “If you want to coach now, I’m all for it. Montana? I’m not so sure about. But you’re still thinking of me as a
visitor
?”

Adam threaded his fingers in mine. “You’re not a visitor, Rainey. You’re my home team.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I love everything about you, about us. I love the way we are.”

“But I miss you. All the time. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe because I need to have you with me. Why can’t I come with you?”
Why can’t you marry me?

“You have your work here, and my job is crazy, I’m all over the place. You’re my home base, baby.”

“I need to know where this is headed.”

“Well, I’m not ready to get married, if that’s what you mean. I want more stability in my career before I make that move.”

“Stability. In baseball? You’re kidding.”

“Rainey, don’t do this. Not now. We’ll talk about it when you come out to Montana. But right now, I’m dying for you.”

I’m sure if I’d gotten laid recently, I would have kicked Adam Harper to the curb, but three months is forever. He started kissing me, rounding first base, as one deftly talented hand slid slowly up my rib cage to Second base, the other pushing my panties down. He barely touched third base and I was gone. So gone. A whimpering, needy sports cliché.

CHAPTER TWO

There’s no way to grasp the idea of exactly how far two thousand miles is until you drive it. And here’s a newsflash, the only state that never ends, besides Missouri of course, is South Dakota. But after four days of cheap hotels and really bad food, my ancient Honda Civic finally limped into Montana. Unannounced.

Wild hairs come from different places, but the idea of a surprise visit to see Adam came out of a bottle or in Antwan’s and my case,
bottles
. Just five nights ago Antwan and I were commemorating our newfound unemployment and the sudden closing of his grandiose dream, a huge salon in the trendy Vista area of Columbia. Thirty chairs to be exact. Gorgeous. Decadent, and as wonderful as it was, a little too upscale for the market to succeed.

I’d been in charge of the wine for our girls’ night, Antwan had been in charge of the music, and had put together a blistering mix of diva tunes. The kind of music that makes you want to say
enough of this shit,
makes you want to claim your man. I was pretty drunk when I’d said it, but sober enough to remember my declaration the next morning. “I’m going to Montana.”

And why not? Antwan offered to keep Buster, who missed his daddy so much. Hell, I missed his daddy. I had a little money saved and didn’t have to look for another job right away. It just seemed like the right thing to do, but why didn’t I call Adam and clue him in? Maybe I was afraid he’d say don’t come or he’d use the
V
word again. I was so tired of being a
visitor
, and there was nothing to keep me in Columbia. So I headed toward the sunset the next day and hoped Adam would think this was a good surprise.

The further down the highway I got, the more apprehensive I was. I’d never done anything like this before. When the trip began it seemed romantic and exciting. But the closer I got to Missoula, the closer I was to answering the question I’d been afraid to ask—how much does Adam Harper really love me? I wanted to turn back, and a couple of times I did head back toward South Carolina, only to turn around. I’d already driven more than halfway across the country, I was either going to find out that I really was Adam’s home team or that I was a just perpetual visitor in his life. There was no good reason to stop now.

The sun was just coming up over the middle of nowhere when I passed the sign that said Missoula was three hundred miles away. That was a while back before my Civic died, or maybe like me, realized it was finally in Montana and chickened out of going all the way. With no cell service, I got out of my car and looked around. The middle of nowhere went on forever, but there were mountains in the distance. I stood on the hood of the car and then the roof to see if I could see anything nearby and tried to remember the last town I’d gone through. The only problem was, after I got as far as Kentucky all the towns looked the same.

With no food or water and no cell signal, the best thing was to sit and hope someone would come along.

I’ve never been a paranoid person, but then I’d never felt so isolated before. I’d also watched way too many crime shows not to see the scenario as anything but bad. For starters, I was Marilyn Monroe blonde, easy pickings for a serial killer truck driver, and everybody knows they always go for the blondes first, then the brunettes. God, why did I let Antwan talk me out of going Lindsay Lohan red six months ago?

Two and a half hours later, I saw a semi in the distance. Should I flag him down and hope he’s a good Samaritan instead of Ted Bundy? The truck grew closer, not slowing. In my mind, I could see Special Agent Derrick Morgan on Criminal Minds pinning my picture on a board with a row of other blondes, shaking his head, trying to figure out the common thread in our murders. But other than our cars stalling on the same Montana highway and our hair color, he was stumped.

I scooched way down in the seat and was glad the truck was soon out of sight. This was horrible. It was getting hotter than Columbia in July and that’s close to hellfire hot. I was tired and thirsty and needed to pee. I raised up just enough to see a big white pickup truck in my rear-view mirror. I could get out and flag the driver down or let him pass and hope a nice little old lady would come along in her nice little old lady car and help me. But two cars in almost three hours didn’t make me feel good about that choice. Fate would be the deciding factor. I waited until the truck whizzed past and then punched the hazard lights. They started blinking, but maybe not in time for the truck to see me.
Shit.

I sat up and watched the brake lights flash and truck came to stop like the driver was deciding whether or not I was worth saving. It turned around and drove slowly toward me. I got out, praying it wasn’t Ted Bundy’s little brother and put on my best
hey y’all
South Carolina smile.

I hadn’t been in Montana long enough to see what the people looked like, but if all the women looked as good as the cowboy who’d just rolled down his window, I was screwed.

“Car trouble?” He tipped his hat back and raised his aviators. Wicked green eyes raked over me, and my breath caught a little.

Granted I was on my way to see my boyfriend, but I wasn’t dead. The cowboy’s face was rugged and stubbled, and the air conditioner on full blast blew his long dark hair about, the kind of hair that’s so luscious, it makes a stylist’s fingers twitch.

“Thanks for stopping. I don’t know what happened. I was just fixing to find a radio station when the car just up and quit, and—.” He put his shades back down and the devil’s smile crossed his lips. “What?”

“You’re not likely to find a radio station out here, ma’am.” He pushed his cowboy hat back a bit so I could get the full effect. God he was hot. “So just what are you
fixing
to do now?”

My sweet southern bell façade was melting fast in the prairie heat. “Are you making fun of me?”

That smile again. “Maybe.”

“Look, I’ve got no cell service, so I’m guessing you don’t either.”

“Out here that’d be a good guess.”

“I’m hot as hell, starving, and I have to pee. Could you just give me a lift to the next town so I can send a tow truck for my car?”

“Sure. But it’ll take us a while to get to the next town, Marietta. Better pee here.”

“Just how far is it?”

“’Bout an hour.”

“And where do you suggest I go?”

“In the sand box.” He pointed to the roadside. “Go ahead, I’m not real big on watching women pee.” If serial killers started off by flirting with their blonde victims, I was dead.

“Fine,” I said and stalked off toward a stand of bushes.

“Hey. What’s your name,” he shouted after me.

I didn’t know this guy and the last thing I wanted to do was give him was my real name. “Carolina. Brown,” I hollered over my shoulder.

“I’d stop right there if I were you, Carolina Brown. You’re liable to get on a rattle snake.”

“Yeah right,” I shouted, and then I heard it, or them, because it sounded like a whole nest of snakes. While watching the ground for vipers, I ran back toward my car as fast as one can on four-inch wedges while Ted Bundy’s little brother laughed his ass off.

“Just go beside your car, Carolina. No one’s gonna see.”

Desperate, I hid myself behind my car, hiked my short denim skirt up and have never been so terrified or so relieved to pee in my life. I felt the warm breeze on my bare ass and watched the stream snake around my new shoes, completely humiliated by my introduction to Montana. When I was done, I readjusted my clothes, grabbed my purse, and started for the stranger’s truck. I was so hot and miserable, I almost wished this guy
would
put me out of my misery.

“It’ll be several hours before the tow truck gets out this way. Better get the rest of your bags and lock up your car.”

A southern gentleman would have already jumped out to help by now, but this guy just watched me struggle with all three suitcases. When I’d packed, I’d run out of suitcases and used a cardboard box to take my makeup kit and all of my hair stuff just in case Adam wanted me to stay. Forever. Then the bottom fell out of the box. Clips and curlers, combs and brushes went everywhere, and there I was squatting again to pick them up. The cowboy serial killer stopped laughing long enough to get out of the truck to help me collect my precious things. By the time we were almost done, I was in tears.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

“It’s just that nothing has gone right. Nothing has gone the way I thought it would.” And it didn’t have anything to do with the contents of a pasteboard box strewn over the side of the road. Adam should be the guy here with me now. But I wasn’t even sure how he would react when I showed up on his doorstep with all three suitcases and a box of tools, hair tools. If he’d wanted me to come to Montana, he would have asked, but he didn’t. It had been months since I’d last seen him. And over the last four years I’d spent more time without him than I had with him.

“Easy, Carolina.” Over my blubbering, his voice sounded like he was talking to a wounded animal. “Get in the truck, I’ll get this.” He took a box out of the back seat of his cab and picked up the rest of my things, stopping to inspect my razor closely. He looked over his shades at me before he tossed it into the box. Maybe he thought I was the serial killer.

Back in the truck, he whipped off his sunglasses, threw them on the console and looked at me. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I should have helped you.”

Since I gave my heart to Adam, one of the things I never do with my male clients is maintain eye contact for very long. It’s too intimate, especially when you’re leaned over the shampoo bowl with your boobs in their face. But I couldn’t look away from this guy.

“You’re scared?” I nodded.
On so many levels, Yes
. “Don’t be. We’re gonna do this right, okay? I’m Beck Hartnett. I own a restaurant near Marietta.”

“That’s nice.” I tried to sound uninterested, but I was starving.

“One of my freezers went out last night. I was on my way back from picking up a part and there you were.”

I dabbed under my eyes with a tissue and was sure I had raccoon eyes. “Lucky me.” He looked like he wanted to snipe at me but thought the better of it.

“When we get to my place, you can either call a tow truck or as soon as I fix the freezer, I’ll take you into town and drop you at a friend’s garage. Dillon is a good dude, he’ll get your car and fix it fast. Either way Carolina, you’re safe, everything’s going to be fine.”

Beck was an asshole. She’d almost killed herself with those bags, and he’d let her, just so he
could watch her sweet butt sway back and forth from the car to the truck. With every trip, she’d gotten a little madder, her movements more pronounced. Chest heaving, perfect breasts thrust forward, straining against that skinny little tank top. And God, her face, especially when he pulled up and she’d smiled with everything she had in her, even with those sky blue eyes that weren’t smiling now.

And what in the hell was she doing out here alone in the badlands anyway? If she belonged to him—well, she didn’t, and she hadn’t said a word to him for forty-five minutes. She just checked her phone constantly for a signal. It annoyed him that she kept glancing at that damn thing over and over again, like she’d rather talk to anybody but him. Like there was someone special she was waiting to hear from, and it was real obvious Beck didn’t fall into that camp. Her silence was digging at him, making him feel even more guilty by the minute for pushing her buttons. Beck couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, where are you headed?” he asked.

“Missoula.” She said the word like that was the last place she wanted to be.

“We don’t see many South Carolina plates around these parts. You have family there?”

“My boyfriend just took a job there coaching baseball.” Girl like her? Of course she had a boyfriend.

“You must have been on the road for days, I bet he’s worried sick.”

She shrugged. “I’m surprising him.”

Beck couldn’t think of a better surprise than opening his door and finding Carolina Brown on his doorstep. Although, he was quite taken with the fantasy of her opening his front door, heading straight for his bed. “So, you’re just going to show up?”