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Cowboy Pi
Cowboy Pi

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Cowboy Pi

Язык: Английский
Год издания: 2018
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“And not after Joe, you mean?”

Samantha gestured impatiently with the clipboard. “My grandfather must have had his share of enemies. He was ornery enough. But I can’t imagine any of them would have tried to kill him. Or have any reason to be a threat to his granddaughter.”

“You’re probably right,” Roark said casually, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “More than likely, the whole thing was just the paranoia of an old man. On the other hand…”

She set the clipboard on the table and faced him squarely again. “What? You’re determined to say it, so go ahead.”

“Maybe that old man was smarter than we gave him credit for when he bought my services. A thing like a cattle drive in wild country…well, it’s got to have certain risks to it, doesn’t it? Accidents can happen, maybe even fatal ones.”

“Not to me, because I’ll be right here, safe in San Antonio. And I don’t appreciate your suggesting I might be in any danger just so you can—”

“Collect a fee? I don’t operate that way, Ms. Howard.” His eyes narrowed in a flash of cold anger, and then just as swiftly they softened. “But all else aside, it’s too bad you and I won’t be on that drive together.”

There it was again, she noticed. Something smoldering on his strong face and in the brazen gaze that made her breath quicken. To avoid it, she lowered her own eyes again. But just slightly this time, to prevent him from thinking she was in any way intimidated by him. Only, this was worse. She found her eyes fastened on his deeply tanned throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed. The action was like a pulse, both mesmerizing and arousing.

She made an effort to steady her breathing, to respond carelessly. “Is it?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice slow and disturbingly husky, almost seductive. “I think it would have been some experience all right. All those long nights under the stars. People share things in situations like that. Things that can get downright interesting.”

Intimate things. That’s what he was saying. This had gone far enough. “Sounds like fun,” she said with a lightness she was far from feeling. “It’s a shame I’ll have to miss it.”

He was silent for a few seconds, taking her measure again. This time she managed to hold his gaze. “Then your decision is definite?”

“Very,” she said with emphasis.

“Guess I’m wasting my time here.”

To her relief, he leaned down and collected his Stetson from the chair. When he turned to go, she reminded him quickly, “You’re forgetting your business card.”

“Keep it,” he said, tugging the hat over his dark hair. “You never know.”

Watching his tall form stride away through the dining room, Samantha felt as though she had just escaped from something potentially dangerous to her. Roark Hawke had had that kind of effect on her, and she wasn’t happy about it.

Since the scene below the balcony was much safer than the sight of his departing figure, she turned to it. Looking down through the feathery foliage of an ancient cypress, she watched the tourists strolling along the cobbled, sun-dappled walkways on both sides of the stream. She saw them wander in and out of the souvenir shops, or focus their cameras on flower beds vibrant with color.

Only, it wasn’t a safer scene, because the image of Roark Hawke intruded on it. His lean face with its sensual mouth called up memories of another cowboy. Unwanted memories carrying a pain that was connected with her grandfather. She hadn’t thought about Hank Barrie in ages, and she didn’t want to think about him now. She had put all that suffering behind her long ago, and she meant to keep it in the past.

No, she wasn’t going there. And she was going to forget all about Roark Hawke and how he had made her pulse accelerate. But when Samantha turned resolutely away from the railing, her eye fell on the business card he’d left on the table.

You never know.

But she did know. She had absolutely no intention of ever calling the number on that card.

WHAT THE HELL had he been thinking? Roark asked himself as he moved swiftly along the River Walk, needing to vent his anger with some form of action, even if it was no more than stretching his legs among the tourists.

Racing down here from Purgatory like that! Storming into the restaurant and cornering Samantha Howard in order to—what?

Throw her over his shoulder and haul her shapely little backside all the way to Colorado and that cattle drive?

Okay, so he’d been tempted to do just that and instead had tried to convince her to change her mind. Which was bad enough. Why hadn’t he anticipated that maybe Joe Walker’s granddaughter wouldn’t want his protection? And why hadn’t he just dropped the whole thing when the lawyer had informed him of her refusal?

Because she was right. She didn’t need his services. Samantha was in no more danger from some unknown enemy than Joe had been. Who would want to harm her, particularly when she intended to surrender all claim to her grandfather’s estate?

Roark didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. Not why he had so explosively charged into the restaurant or, even worse than that, why he had actually come on to the woman.

Well, yeah, he guessed he did know the answer to the last question. She’d been dynamite waiting for a match in that sexy little power suit. The abbreviated skirt had afforded him a clear view of long legs in heels and a tantalizing glimpse of silken thighs.

There were also the attractions of a luscious mouth, a pair of beguiling brown eyes, and a mass of gleaming chestnut hair—not to mention the sparks they’d rubbed off each other throughout their whole brief encounter, all of which would have meant trouble for him on a cattle drive.

Passing under one of the bridges, Roark unconsciously slowed his steps. He paid no attention to the street player strumming his guitar for the benefit of the tourists. He was far too occupied with the heat that gripped him over the image of Samantha Howard’s lush body.

Damn, what was he doing? She had turned him down. He was off the hook. He should be congratulating himself that she was no longer his problem, that he could concentrate now on his own troubling issue.

Right. Let it go.

Determined to do exactly that, Roark swung around and headed toward the city garage where he had parked his truck.

Except he couldn’t let it go. There was still his promise to a dying old man who had trusted him. It nagged at him all the way back to his pickup.

Chapter Two

“Tell me they absolutely loved it,” Gail pleaded. “Tell me they’ve already made an offer on it.”

Samantha, cell phone pressed to her ear, hesitated before answering. What could she report to her anxious officer manager about the high-rise condo she had just finished showing? What could she say to Gail that wouldn’t sound too dismal?

“They said they would think about it.”

What the elderly couple had actually told her was that they wanted to shop around a bit more before deciding, which meant they weren’t interested. Samantha didn’t blame them. The price on the condo was too high, and it was in need of updating.

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Gail said brightly. “Isn’t that encouraging?”

“I’m hopeful,” Samantha lied, wondering how in a span of less than twenty-four hours everything that had been so promising could end up being so bleak.

Yet it had, starting with yesterday afternoon when her buyer for the mansion in the King William District had backed out of the sale. Something about a deal going sour on him and his software company being in trouble. Okay, so she had lost that one, but she still had the hot property on the River Walk. Only, she didn’t. The owner had called this morning to tell her he was listing with her chief rival, the Van Nugent Agency.

She hated this! All right, so she hadn’t gone into the business to become rich. She’d opened her agency primarily for the joy of putting people into their dream houses. But she had expected to make a living out of it and to provide decent incomes for her employees. Like Gail, a widow in her fifties supporting an ailing mother. And the young woman who worked for her part-time and needed her salary to pay for the college degree she was earning. And her other agent, a handicapped father raising two kids. The job market wasn’t good for any of them. They were depending on Samantha. As was the bank, who expected regular payments on that business loan she had secured from them last month.

Bad, but she wasn’t sunk yet. Another potential buyer for the mansion had surfaced this morning, which was why she was calling her office manager at the agency.

“Where are you?” Gail asked.

“In my car and ready to head over to King William. I’m just checking in to make sure this guy hasn’t canceled the appointment. Please tell me he hasn’t canceled.” The way things were going, it wouldn’t have surprised her.

“He hasn’t canceled.”

“Then there still is a real estate fairy. Tell me the name again. Is it Mulroony or Mulroney? I don’t want to risk any errors on this.”

“Mulroney.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him that would help?”

“Just what you already know, that his wife will be accompanying him and they prefer to meet you at the property. Like I said earlier, I didn’t meet him. He made the appointment by phone after seeing our ad.”

Samantha didn’t like going blind into a showing, but it couldn’t be helped. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“If it helps, I’ll cross my toes as well.”

Samantha rang off and eased out into the flow of traffic, passing the Tower of the Americas in Hemisfair Plaza as she headed away from the downtown area. The soaring structure, along with the more famous Alamo, was the pride of San Antonio.

Samantha seldom failed to take pleasure in her city. Only, not today. Today her attention was focused on saving her agency.

There is a solution, you know. It’s right there in front of you, waiting to solve all your problems. All you have to do is—

No! Tempting though that inheritance from her grandfather was, really tempting now, she was going to make it on her own. She wasn’t going to play Joe Walker’s game. If she could nail this sale, the commission would be enough to keep her going until—what? Something else came along? Yes, why not.

There was something else holding her back from calling the lawyer and telling him she had changed her mind. Something that, in spite of her best efforts, had been stealing into her consciousness since yesterday morning on the River Walk. The memory of a tall, black-haired figure who, according to her grandfather’s instructions, must accompany her on the cattle drive. Roark Hawke, with fire in his cobalt-blue eyes and a bold mouth that didn’t bear thinking about.

So don’t think about him, because you need to concentrate on making the best impression possible on the Mulroneys. These people could be your salvation.

Leaving the main stream of traffic, she turned into the King William District, a twenty-five-block area of fabulous Victorian mansions built by prominent German merchants over a century ago. The house listed by her agency, the last one on a dead-end street, was a brick Queen Anne sheltered by live oaks.

There was no car waiting out front when Samantha arrived. But then she was a few minutes early for the appointment. Sliding out of her car, she went and stood by the iron gate that led to the front door. There was no one else around, the street quiet except for the thunder overhead of a jet from one of the nearby air force bases.

The house was unoccupied, its owner moved away. A vacant property never made the most desirable showing. However, it would seem less empty if she opened up the place and waited inside to welcome them. Removing the keys from her purse, she followed the brick walk to the deep porch and unlocked the front door, leaving it ajar by way of invitation to the Mulroneys.

The interior she entered was spacious and handsome, many of the period furnishings still in place. All the same, it had a hollow, somewhat gloomy aspect and, with the air-conditioning turned off, it felt stuffy. She could do something about that.

Quitting the wide entrance hall, she crossed the shadowy double parlor into a tall bay that overlooked the side of the property. The bay, too, was dim because of the lowered blinds at its windows. Leaning over the window seat, she raised the blinds to permit cheerful sunlight to stream into the room, released the catches on the sashes and lifted the windows. Better, much better. Fresh air drifted through the openings.

Wrought-iron grilles had been fitted over the long windows on the outside of the bay. Samantha was admiring their delicate tracery when the deep silence behind her was ruptured by a sudden, ominous buzzing. Something electrical? A problem? That was what occurred to her, until she turned around to investigate.

She saw it at once. How could she not see it when it was coiled there on the floor less than three feet away? Threatened by her intrusion, it must have slithered out from its hiding place behind the folds of the velvet portieres that framed the bay.

A diamondback rattler! A very large and very deadly diamondback!

Samantha was instantly seized by the same heart-stopping terror she had experienced as a child whenever she’d encountered snakes at the Walking W. A paralyzing terror that had earned her her grandfather’s contempt. But snakes were expected on a ranch, not here in the city. Along with that shock was the mystery of how it could have gotten inside a closed house.

All this raced through her mind, together with the realization that she was in a serious position. Cornered, in fact, because the grilles over the windows behind her prevented any escape that way. And if she attempted to edge around the thing, or even tried to climb up on the window seat…uh-uh, no way. Any action at all, even the slightest movement, and it would strike.

Sick though she was with a cold fear, Samantha obeyed the lesson of her childhood and managed to remain perfectly still. Her only option, it seemed. And all the while the diamondback measured her, its thick, ugly head weaving slowly back and forth, its upraised rattles vibrating a steady warning.

Damn, how long was she supposed to stand here like this? She should be doing something. What?

Before she could decide, she heard the sound of the front door she’d left ajar opening and closing, followed by the tread of feet on the floor of the hall. The Mulroneys.

A risk, but she had to caution them. “Careful!” she called out. “There’s a snake loose in here! A poisonous one!”

Well, that should effectively spoil the chance of any sale.

Her warning was met by a brief silence. Then a figure appeared in the archway between hall and parlor, treating her to another shock. This was not one of the Mulroneys. Roark Hawke stood there asking no questions, his hard gaze swiftly assessing the situation.

Slowly, and with care, he advanced into the room. “Just keep still,” he instructed her. “Not a muscle, okay?”

Did trembling count? Samantha wondered. Because she was certain that by now she was quivering all over as she watched him withdraw a revolver from a shoulder holster inside his suit coat. What was he doing carrying a gun? Never mind, just be grateful he had one.

When he was several yards away from the bay, he stopped and took aim. “Don’t worry,” he assured her with what she could swear was nonchalance. “I’m a good shot.”

She took his word for it and prayed. The diamondback had detected his presence. Head lifted from its tight coil, it issued a sibilant alarm as it whipped around. In the next second it had no head at all. It was blown away by the bark of the revolver in Roark’s steady hand.

Samantha permitted herself to shudder in earnest before going limp with relief. “If that was a demonstration of your skills as a bodyguard, I’m impressed.”

“I don’t like to destroy nature,” he said, nodding solemnly toward the snake whose heavy body was still twisting in spasms, “but in this case…”

“Exactly.” She watched him tuck the revolver back inside the holster. “Do you always come prepared like that?”

“I’m a PI, remember?”

Samantha doubted that private investigators carried guns with them everywhere they went. On the other hand, he was no ordinary PI. Yesterday he had been clad in denim. Today he wore a trim business suit whose coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, making him no less potent than yesterday’s cowboy in jeans. The contrast was rather startling, reminding her that this was a man who inhabited two worlds.

Roark glanced around, discovering the marble fireplace with its tools still in place at the side of the hearth. He went and got the poker and shovel, returning with them to scrape up the remains of the snake.

“Big sucker,” he said. “Maybe not lethal if it had managed to sink its fangs in you, but you’d have suffered some serious consequences.”

Her silence must have made him realize his observation was not a welcome one. He looked up from his task, searching her face. “I’ll get rid of this thing. You okay?”

“Dandy.”

She wasn’t. She could see that for herself the moment he left, disappearing into the hallway. There was a pier glass directly opposite the bay, and even across the width of the parlor she could tell that the tall, slender woman in jacketed dress and low heels, long chestnut hair coiled at the back of her head, was badly shaken, shoulders sagging, legs looking like they were in danger of no longer supporting her.

Samantha lowered herself into the window seat. Roark found her huddled there when he returned to the parlor.

“Dumped it in the shrubbery outside,” he reported, replacing the poker and shovel.

She didn’t invite him to join her on the seat, but that was where he ended up, his big, solid body squeezed so close beside her that she could feel his heat, smell the clean, masculine scent of his soap. Quite a change from the unshaven, grimy Roark Hawke of yesterday but every bit as unsettling, though she couldn’t argue that his nearness was also comforting.

“Feeling better?” he asked, turning to her.

There it was again, that Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, hypnotizing her with its slow action that shouldn’t have been in any way alluring but somehow was.

“Much,” she lied. “Thank you for playing knight to the rescue and slaying the—well, I guess it would be serpent in this case and not dragon.” She tilted her head to one side, favoring him with a grateful smile. “And now would you please tell me just what the hell you think you’re doing?”

“Care to clarify that?”

“Turning up here like this. It’s not by chance that you happened to walk through that front door.”

“Ah, that. It’s because of the watering hole I visited last night. Some interesting people hang out there, and sometimes they provide me with useful bits of information. Seems to be a favorite haunt of one of your competitors. It only took him a couple of drinks before he was bragging to anyone who would listen that you’d just lost a major sale, that he’d taken another important listing away from you and that your agency was on the ropes.”

Van Nugent! Bad news traveled fast in the business, particularly when vipers like Nugent got hold of it. Apparently, he’d learned before she did that she wouldn’t get the River Walk property.

“So you decided I’d be desperate enough by now to change my mind about my grandfather’s inheritance.”

“It did occur to me to look you up again.”

“And I suppose it was Gail again who told you where to find me.”

“Nice lady, your office manager. Very helpful. Remind me to send her flowers.”

“Did Gail also tell you to be sure to pack a gun when you came looking for me?”

“Now, see, that was my idea. I kind of had this uncomfortable feeling by then that, if you did go and change your mind, maybe you weren’t as safe in San Antonio as you figured. Looks like I was right, huh?”

“Are you suggesting the snake was—”

“Deliberate? Why not? You think that thing just happened to crawl in here? I bet if you looked through the house you’d find a window or door somewhere that’s been forced open.” He turned his head, sweeping his gaze around the parlor. “So where are they?”

“Who?”

“The couple Gail told me you were scheduled to meet here.”

His shifts in topics were so abrupt that Samantha had trouble following them, particularly when she was feeling limp again. And vulnerable. Decidedly vulnerable. She glanced at her watch. “I guess they’re late.”

“You ever meet them?”

“No, they arranged the appointment by phone through Gail.”

“Wanna bet they never turn up? That they don’t even exist?”

She stared at him. “But that would mean—”

“Oh, yeah, a setup, because your office manager must have mentioned the house was unoccupied, and you go and walk into it with a diamondback rattler waiting for you in the parlor.”

“If that’s true,” she said, feeling weaker by the moment, “then it’s also possible…” She couldn’t name it, didn’t want to believe that anything so fantastic could be a reality.

Roark, however, had no hesitation about putting it into words. “That Joe Walker wasn’t imagining someone was after him. The same someone who wants to prevent you from qualifying for your grandfather’s estate.”

“But I told the lawyer that I intend to sign away any claim to the estate.”

“Either this guy hasn’t learned that yet, or he’s trying to make sure you don’t change your mind. Because, even though he must have realized it was unlikely the rattler would have killed you if it had managed to sting you, there was a good chance it would land you in the hospital or, if not that, scare you into not joining the cattle drive.”

“Well, his threat was an effective one.” She was silent for a moment, absorbing his conjecture and not liking it one bit. “Oh, this is crazy. Who could possibly have a motive for wanting either my grandfather or me out of the way?”

“Someone who benefits, of course. Did Ebbersole explain the contents of your grandfather’s will?”

“In more detail than I wanted to know.”

“So, who inherits if you default?”

Samantha frowned, trying to remember all that the lawyer had shared with her. “There are some cash legacies to my grandfather’s employees at the ranch. None of the legacies are all that large. In any case, they’re guaranteed no matter who inherits.”

“No motive there, then. What about the big stuff?”

“It’s to be divided. The investments would go to St. James Monastery and the ranch itself and all its contents to the Western Museum in Purgatory. But you can’t think—”

“That either a community of Catholic brothers or a nonprofit public museum would go to any lengths to inherit Joe Walker’s estate?” He shook his head. “Not likely.”

“Then, if they’re above suspicion—and they must be—none of it makes sense.”

Roark didn’t respond. She eyed him as he sat there, slowly flexing the fingers of his right hand as he pondered the problem. Was the action an unconscious habit that permitted him to deliberate, or some form of exercise?

The hand captivated her. It was large and tanned from the sun, the fingers that repeatedly curled into a fist and opened again were long and with an obvious strength. Fingers that were capable of being both tough or stroking a woman’s sensitive flesh.

The sudden image of such a seduction was so arousing that it alarmed Samantha. Catching her breath, she inched away from him on the window seat. She didn’t think he was aware of her hasty retreat until his hand went still. He turned his head and looked at her, a smile of amusement hovering on his wide mouth.

It was a smile that, like everything else about him, unnerved her. She made an effort to remedy her unwanted state as she said quickly, “Shouldn’t I be calling the police?”

“Why?”

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