Trouble With Valentine's Day

Seven

The front of the Buckhorn Was lit up like the fourth of July. Beams of red, white, and blue slid across the facade and the patrons lined up in front. The rotating lights of three police vehicles bounced off cars in the parking lot and chased the inky shadows in the dense forest beyond. span

From inside the sheriff's Blazer, Rob looked out at everyone standing in front of the Buckhorn, his gaze taking in the two deputies as they checked for sobriety before letting anyone go. The backseat of the Blazer had no leg room, and a pair of cuffs cut into his wrist. He was uncomfortable as hell, and he might have stretched out a bit if not for the pain in the ass cuffed beside him.

He'd always known that Kate Hamilton spelled trouble. He just hadn't known how much trouble. Since she'd arrived in Gospel, she'd started that gay rumor that had some of the rednecks in town looking at him funny. He wasn't afraid. Just annoyed.

Then tonight she'd breezed into the Buckhorn and engaged three of the biggest idiots around. It'd been only a matter of time before things got ugly between her and the Worsleys and someone would have had to step in. That someone had been him, and now he was cooling his heels in the back of a cop car. To top it off, she didn't seem all that grateful.

He glanced across his shoulder at her dark profile. "You're welcome," he said.

"For what?" The lights from another squad car lit up one side of her face as she turned to look at him.

"For saving your ass."

"I figure we're even." She shook her head. "Peirce would have taken your head off with that pool cue if I hadn't stepped in and saved your ass."

"He would have tried," Rob scoffed. He'd been hit in the head a few times with hockey sticks and pucks, but he'd always been wearing his helmet. He doubted the pool cue would have knocked him out, but it would have hurt like hell. "I know you think you can do anything a man can do. That you can take care of yourself, but there's a reason why people ignore the Worsley boys. Everyone knows they don't play well with others."

She was silent a moment, then said, "Well, it would have been nice if everyone would have told me."

"I did." Rob scooted down in the seat as far as his long legs would allow. "Twice." His coat and flannel shirt fell open around him, and a chill crept across the front of his T-shirt and stomach. Nothing to do now but kick back and wait to be hauled in alongside the ingrate beside him. "I told you to call it a night and go home." He guessed he could have warned her about the Worsleys earlier, but he'd been busy trying to ignore her. Kate wasn't exactly his favorite person, and by the time he'd even noticed her with the Worsleys, she'd already sunk three balls. At that point, the best he could do was stand around and watch her play and wait for things to get out of hand.

Rob turned his attention to the front of the bar. Tuttle had called Kate mannish, which was just moronic. She was so blatantly female, with large breasts, slim waist, and long legs, that there was no way anyone would confuse her for a man. Sure she was tall, but Rob liked tall women. He liked long legs cinched tight around his waist, draped over his shoulders, and wrapped around his head. He liked the way a tall woman fit against him in and out of bed.

Watching her stretch her long body across the pool table had annoyed him even as it had turned him on. Then he'd touched her because he hadn't seemed able to stop himself. He'd touched the side of her throat and her hair. He'd fit his hand in the curve of her waist, and he'd slid his palm across her stomach. For a few seconds, he'd welcomed the hot punch of lust in his belly instead of fighting it.

Muttering from the other side of the seat drew his attention. "What?" he asked.

"I'm just wondering how long it will take to bail out of jail," she said through a sigh as she leaned her head against the window. "I don't want my grandfather to get called about this." One side of her hair fell forward and covered her face. "He's old and shouldn't have to get a call from the sheriff in the middle of the night."

"I'll bail us out." For some reason, he was starting to feel sorry for her, and he was having a hard time remembering why he didn't like her. "How much?"

"I don't know. It depends on the charges."

"Well, how is it done? Is there a teller machine somewhere? Or do I write a check?"

"You can only use cash." She straightened and looked over at him. "Don't tell me you've never been arrested."

"Nope."

Even through the darkness, he could see that she found that bit of news incredulous. "You're kidding?"

Why did she find that so hard to believe? "No." He scowled. He'd just offered to pay her bail and she insults him. Now he remembered why he didn't like her. "How many times have you been arrested?"

"Never. I'm a private investigator. At least I used to be. I know how the system works." She thought a moment. "Or at least I do in Nevada."

He turned his attention to the front of the Buckhorn once more. He no longer cared what she did. Maybe the men around town were right about her. She was a real ballbuster.

He heard her take a deep breath and let it out slow. The seat shook a little as she wiggled around, trying to get more comfortable.

"Rob?" She said his name just above a whisper.

He looked over at her. She'd turned and pulled her bent leg up on the seat. The light from outside lit up her face, and her knee almost touched the outside of his thigh. "Yeah?"

She licked her lips and her voice got low and kind of throaty. "Thank you."

Hell. Just when he was trying to work up a real dislike of her, she had to ruin it by turning all nice and girly. Her change in moods was giving him whiplash. "You're welcome."

She leaned forward a bit and spoke into the darkness just above his left cheek. "How's your chin?"

"Hurts like a bitch, but I'll live."

"I'm sorry you got hit. Let me know if you need anything."

He lowered his gaze to her mouth and wondered if she was going to offer to kiss it better for him. Not that kissing Kate was a good idea. "Like what?" Although it would definitely keep her quiet; keep her mouth too busy to talk, too.

"An ice pack."

An ice pack might be good, might keep him from thinking up all the ways he could keep her mouth busy. "Why don't you tell me how the gay rumor got started?" he asked to take his mind off her head in his lap.

She leaned back. "I think I'd only lived here a few weeks, and you weren't back in town yet. Ada came into the store one morning and started telling me about the owner of the sporting goods store not being interested in any women in town, so I said something like maybe you didn't like women. I was thinking misogynist. I really didn't know she was talking about you."

Right.

She shrugged. "I never thought you were gay. Not even after the first night we met. It never even entered my head."

Well, that's something, he thought as he sat up and tried to get more comfortable.

"Erectile dysfunction, yes. Gay?" She shook her head. "No."

He stilled. "You don't think I can get it up? I can get it up plenty!" He hadn't meant to yell, but Christ almighty, just because he hadn't been using his hardons lately didn't mean he wasn't capable.

"If you say so."

God, she'd done it again in a matter of minutes. Just when he was starting to think she wasn't so bad, she pissed him off. Just when he was thinking about kissing her, she told him he had erectile dysfunction. If they hadn't been cuffed, he would have grabbed her hand and shoved it on his dick just to prove her wrong. She'd feel for herself that he functioned just fine.

The car door opened and Sheriff Dillon Taber stood in the opening. "Come on out, you two."

Rob didn't hesitate before sliding out of the vehicle. He wanted to be as far away from Kate as possible. "Erectile dysfunction," he scoffed.

"Did you say something, Sutter?" the sheriff asked.

He frowned. "No."

Kate moved from the Blazer and stood beside Rob within the head beams of a police cruiser. "Peirce swears you never touched him," Dillon informed Kate as he moved behind her to take off her cuffs. "He says he must have tripped because there's no way a girl knocked him out." She turned and rubbed her wrists. "But I'm going to give you some advice which I'm sure you'll ignore," the sheriff continued as he shoved the cuffs in a leather case hooked to his belt. "Stay away from anyone with the last name of Worsley." He thought a minute, then added, "And while you're at it, go ahead and steer clear of Emmett Barnes and Hayden Dean."

"I plan to stay clear of the bars around here," she said as she grabbed her leather backpack off the hood of the Blazer.

"That's probably wise. How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"About half a beer."

"Then you're free to go. Drive careful, Ms. Hamilton."

"I will. Thanks," she said and walked away. For one brief second, a flash of light caught in her hair. Then she was gone.

Dillon moved behind Rob and removed his cuffs. "Several people have confirmed that Tuttle Worsley swung first," the sheriff said as he released the cuffs from Rob's wrists. "You're free to go."

Rob had first met Dillon last summer when he and his son Adam had signed up for fly-fishing lessons. He'd liked the sheriff immediately and had hired Adam to help out in the store. The eleven-year-old had done a good job sweeping up and emptying the trash. "What's Adam up to these days?" he asked as he rubbed his wrists.

"No good. He can't wait to knock the hell out of the trout population this summer."

"Tell him to stop by the store and I'll put him to work again."

"He'd like that." Dillon pushed up the brim of his cowboy hat. "How much have you had to drink, Rob?"

"I was on my second beer."

The radio clipped to Dillon's shoulder squawked, and he reached up to turn it down. "What do you know about Stanley's granddaughter?" he asked as Kate's SUV pulled onto the road from the parking lot.

Other than the fact that he didn't like her but wanted to have sex with her? "I know she has a way of rubbing people the wrong way."

"I have one of those at home," Dillon chuckled. "Sometimes, bothersome women are the best kind."

"I'm going to take your word for that," Rob said as he pulled his car keys out of his coat pocket. "Stay out of trouble, Sheriff."

"Wish I could, but it's only March, and summer's just around the corner." Dillon shook his head and moved toward the drunks still lined up in front of the bar.

Rob walked to his HUMMER and drove the five miles to his house. He turned up his driveway, and the motion sensors tripped the lights as he went. When he'd had the house built, he'd had the lights put in as security measures. But as he'd quickly discovered, motion-detecting lights and wildlife didn't mix. There were a lot of nights he just turned the whole system off so he could get some sleep.

He pushed a button on the garage door opener clipped to his viser, then drove the HUMMER inside. The automatic door closed behind him. He'd had the four-thousand-square-foot house built the summer before. It had four bedrooms and bathrooms and was constructed of lake rock and big wooden timbers. He loved the cathedral ceiling and huge plate glass windows that overlooked the lake, but he didn't know what he'd been thinking, having such a big house built. Even when Amelia was old enough to visit him in Gospel, she wouldn't need so much room.

The light he'd left on over the range still burned. He turned it off and tossed his keys on the marble counter. The carpet on the stairs muffled his footsteps as he headed upstairs in the dark. He'd spent the past weekend in Seattle with his daughter. She'd learned three new words and had started stringing them together into sentences.

Rob took off his coat and tossed it on a chair next to the oak entertainment center that held one of his big-screen televisions. Moonlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and shone across him as he shucked off his clothes. Naked, he crawled into his bed.

The cool sheets touched his skin, and he pulled the heavy wool blankets and red-and-blue plaid comforter over him. His trip to Seattle had been an improvement over the last time. He and Louisa were getting along better than they had since he'd been shot. Rob wasn't sure how he felt about it, but she'd hinted at a reconciliation.

He placed an arm behind his head and looked up at the moonlight on his ceiling. He loved Amelia, and he wanted to be with her. He still had feelings for Louisa. He just didn't know what they were or if they were deep enough. He couldn't afford to make another mistake. Both he and Louisa were older. Wiser. More settled, or at least he knew he was. Maybe they wouldn't mess it up this time. Maybe they could make it work.

But when he closed his eyes, it wasn't thoughts of Louisa that kept him up for several more hours. It wasn't the picture of her long blonde hair that was stuck in his head. It wasn't the memory of her voice saying "Let me know if you need anything" that grabbed his insides and turned him hard. Or the thought of just exactly how many ways he wanted to prove to her that he was a man. A man capable of pleasing a woman. It wasn't the thought of his ex-wife who made his skin hot and the sheets suddenly too warm to bear. It wasn't the touch of Louisa's hands he craved on him.

It was Kate. It was the memory of her playing pool, spliced together with the vision of her layed out across the table like a gourmet meal. It was the hint of cleavage and flash of skin. A freeze frame of her looking up into his face as he held her back against his chest.

Alone within the darkness of his room, it was the woman who thought he was impotent that starred in his most X-rated fantasy.

Across town, Stanley Caldwell sat on the edge of his bed and looked inside the box he held in his hands. A half hour earlier he'd heard Katie return home, and he'd quietly shut his bedroom door.

In the box, he'd placed Melba's collection of Tom Jones records. A few of them were autographed. There were twenty-five of them in all. He knew because he'd just counted them.

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. He should have been the one to die first. Melba should have outlived him. It was too hard this way. Too hard for an old man like him to go on when his best friend and lover was no longer around. They'd raised children and grown old together. They'd grown fat and comfortable too. He missed her like he missed the other part of his soul. He couldn't just pack her away.

He reached inside the box and grabbed some of the albums. Then slowly he put them back. Grace Sutter had come over for a beer that night while Katie had been out playing pool. They'd laughed and talked about things they had in common. Like John Wayne movies and Tex Ritter Westerns. Glenn Miller and The Kingston Trio.

Now that Grace was gone, he felt guilty that he'd shared those memories with anyone other than his wife, Melba. Guilty that he'd boxed up her records. He'd thought he could just pack away a few of her things—nothing big—nothing like her housecoats and slippers. Just the small things that Katie had been nagging him about. He'd thought he could do it.

Stanley let go of the albums and set the box on the floor. He liked Grace. Aside from Melba, he liked her more than he'd liked any woman in a very long time. She wasn't pushy and she didn't gossip. Talking to her had been so easy, and her smile made him want to smile too.

With his foot, he pushed the box under his bed. There, he hadn't gotten rid of Melba's albums. He was just setting them somewhere else for a while. Somewhere out of sight, but not out of the house.

He turned off his light and crawled into bed. When he closed his eyes, he pictured Melba's face surrounded by her gray hair, and he relaxed. Grace Sutter was his friend. He liked her, but no one would ever take the place of his wife in his old, lonely heart.