Just a Cowboy

“You believed it enough to run.”

“And I spent the last six weeks telling myself I was crazy, even though I kept running.”

“And now you don’t feel crazy anymore.”

She shook her head. “Not now.”

“The canal changed your mind?”

“Yes, it did. Because Dean knew I ran out there all the time. Everyone knew it. And when they got around to finding whatever pieces of me were left after the gators or sharks were done, it would have been a sad, sad accident. Except that someone tried to drown me in that canal.”

“The police should have listened to that part.” He felt his ire stirring.

“How could they when I didn’t tell them? I was half-hysterical over being attacked, I was accusing Dean, they were telling me it was just random … God, I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before!”

He could. He knew what shock and denial could do to a mind. He’d experienced enough of his own. Impulsively, he reached out and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before he let go.

Of all the damn times to be inappropriately aware of the satin of a woman’s skin, this was it. He shoved the awareness down into a pit for later consideration. There were more important issues to deal with.

“You didn’t want to believe it any more than the cops and your lawyer did,” he said after a moment. “That’s normal enough. I doubt I’d have felt any differently.”

“No.” She shivered and rubbed her arms again. The night was cooling down, but not that much. At least not for him, but he didn’t come from Miami. “Jeez, now I do feel crazy. I went on the run because it occurred to me that Dean had paid someone to kill me, but I didn’t think of the one thing that proved it until just now? I need a shrink.”

“No,” he said firmly, “you’re normal. I don’t think the normal human mind is designed to readily accept the idea that someone wants to kill us. Certainly not someone we think we know and used to love.”

“Maybe. Maybe.” But she sounded awfully doubtful.

“Anyway,” he said bracingly, “you’re safe here. That’s what matters.”

“Yes. It is.” Several minutes ticked by then she managed a wan smile. “That was the whole point in coming here. But now I’ve got a lot of other stuff to think about.”

“Such as?”

“Such as why I’ve been such an idiot, believing and not believing, and running if I didn’t fully believe it, and…”

“Whoa,” he said gently, smiling for her. “Don’t start beating yourself up. The mind works in its own ways, and sometimes we don’t realize things until we’re ready for them.”

She seemed willing to accept that. When he went home a half hour later, the conversation had even turned back to the home repair project she wanted to involve herself in.

She seemed happier. And he was determined to find out what the hell had happened in Miami.

Thank God for friends in the police department.

Because, if he emerged from his own denial to look at this clearly, it seemed entirely possible that if a man with money really wanted to find her, there was little to stop him.

He needed details. Every one he could get. Only then could he figure out what he could do, what he might need to do.

He headed straight for his computer to send an email.

Chapter 4

The next few days passed swiftly for Kelly. She seemed to have put Dean and his machinations out of her mind, at least for now, because she was busy, truly busy, for the first time since she’d gone on the run.

It helped to give Hank a hand with the stove, to hover around while the electrician solved what turned out to be relatively minor problems.

Repairing the termite damage in the basement was messier and much more time-consuming, but she enjoyed the hands-on work of helping to jack up joists and reinforce the damaged ones. She especially enjoyed using the hammer to pound nails.

At one point her enjoyment must have become evident because Hank laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look like you’re hammering Dean’s head.”

At once she blushed. “I wouldn’t do that. But it’s nice to work out some anger.”

“Especially harmlessly. Hammer away, lady. Need more nails?”

She laughed and took a few more nails from him, tucking them into the already-heavy pockets of the canvas work apron he’d given her.

“This feels so good,” she admitted when they decided to break for lunch.

“What does?”

“Doing something again. Accomplishing something. Spending all my time riding buses and hiding in motel rooms…well, that’s just not me. I like to be busy.”

“So do I, which is why I took on this house. I grew up next door, and the people who owned it were like grandparents to me. When I came back for their funerals, it just killed me to see how the place was falling apart. And then I moved back and I figured it would be a great way to keep myself busy between stints on the range.”

“There’s plenty to do here,” she agreed.

He locked up the house behind them, and she walked next door with him. Already she’d gotten used to the fact that he insisted on making her lunch if she was going to help him with the repairs.

She liked it. There was an easiness in Hank’s manner that appealed to her even more than his rugged good looks. He might limp, he might look as if pain never left him, but he was still easy to be with, as if he was comfortable with who he was. Which was more than she could say.

Oh, don’t go there again, she told herself. But her thoughts refused to listen to reason. Somehow, sitting across a table from Hank while they ate tuna sandwiches, having spent the morning working with him, made him feel like an intimate. Closer than her girlfriends during the years of her marriage.

She had the worst urge to tell him about all the nagging self-doubts and criticisms she kept leveling at herself, even though she knew she was probably being too harsh.

But considering the mess her life had turned into, being harsh with herself didn’t seem all that extreme.

“I was an idiot,” she announced.

“What makes you say that?” His gray eyes were steady, not quite smiling, as he looked at her over his sandwich.

“Oh, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the last eight years. I made a lot of mistakes.”

“Mistakes,” he said, “are only bad if we don’t learn from them.”

“Right. I tell myself that all the time. I’ve got a lot to learn from.”

“We all do.”

It wasn’t a question, and she appreciated that. Since the first night, he’d been awfully careful about not questioning her about anything that wasn’t immediately in front of them. Maybe he was respecting her privacy, or maybe he didn’t want to know. Either way, she liked that he didn’t push her to places she didn’t want to go.

But now she felt like talking a bit. It had been a long time since she had felt she could confide in anyone. And Hank seemed safe, both from his manner and the fact that she wouldn’t be here long.

“You know,” she remarked, “it’s sad, but I didn’t even feel like I could trust my girlfriends with the things I was dealing with and trying to sort out.”

“Then they couldn’t have been good friends.”

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