Wild Horse Springs

To her shock, he knelt on one knee and helped her with the boot. His hand slid along her calf as he pushed her foot gently into the leather.

Brandi couldn’t move. His hand glided ahead of the boot until his fingers rested just above her knee. She could feel the warmth of him through the material as he pressed gently into her flesh as if he was testing to see if she were real.

“It fits perfect,” he said. “I guess I’ve found Cinderella.”

“Thanks for bringing it back. I’m really grateful, Sheriff.”

“You’re more than welcome. Just part of the job.” He stood and offered his hand. “Dan Brigman.”

She took his hand and stood, noticing he was only a few inches taller than her as she balanced on the one boot. “Can I buy you a drink, Sheriff, to say thank you?”

“No, thanks.”

He hadn’t turned loose of her fingers, and she wondered if she should ask for her hand back. When she looked down, she spotted the blue toe of her other blue cowboy boot and squealed as she jerked her hand away from him. She dropped to the floor so she could crawl under the card table that served as her dressing table.

He tried to step out of the way, but her bottom bumped into him several times before she backed out from under the flimsy table. Then she hopped around trying to tug on the second boot while accidentally bumping into him again.

He gripped her waist and steadied her as she finally got the boot on.

When she straightened, he let go of her, but one hand rose to brush her hair from her face.

“You have a mass of long hair, pretty lady. It seems to fly around you like a midnight cloud. I’ve got a daughter who has hair as long as yours, but hers is straight and the color of sunshine.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head back. “My hair’s always had a mind of its own. I not only kicked you while I was trying to pull on the boot, you probably got a mouthful of curls.”

“I’ll survive.” He laughed.

“Sure you won’t take that drink? I feel like I owe you one, Sheriff.”

“No, but I might let you buy me lunch. The best Mexican food place for a hundred miles around is right across the street.”

Brandi wasn’t looking to be picked up, and she couldn’t tell if the sheriff was trying to start something. If so, he was so far out of practice with this switch from a drink to lunch thing. She needed to cut this off quick. “Wouldn’t you rather go home and have lunch with your family?” The last thing she needed was to get involved with a married man.

He hesitated but didn’t back away like a man who’d been trying to flirt might. “My wife left me twenty years ago, and my daughter is grown and now lives in Dallas. If you don’t want to come along, I’m still planning on eating Mexican food. Pearly, my secretary, told me to eat lunch before I came back, and she’s not an easy woman to cross.”

Brandi felt like a fool. The sheriff wasn’t using a line on her. If he thought he was, it came pretty close to the worst one she’d ever heard. He’d given her the facts of his life as small-town people did. As people who have nothing to hide did.

“My name’s Brandi Malone.”

“I guessed that. Saw it on the board out front.” He backed a few steps to the door. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Malone. Maybe I’ll come hear you sing sometime.”

“Do that,” she said, noticing neither bothered with goodbye.

After he disappeared, she decided that the sheriff was shy. She’d embarrassed him by insinuating that he was trying to flirt, or maybe he felt like he’d dumped too much information on a total stranger.

She dug through her pile of clothes and pulled on her leather jacket with fringe. It wasn’t warm enough for today’s weather, but she didn’t have time to find another coat.

Five minutes later she stepped out of the Nowhere and walked across the street. One car, the sheriff’s cruiser, was in the café’s parking lot. The lunch run was long past being over. She wasn’t surprised he’d kept to his word.

Brandi was shivering when she made it to the table in the back where he sat alone. “This place still open?” she asked.

He looked up from his cell phone. She caught the surprise in his eyes before he glanced away.

“I’m buying your lunch, Sheriff. You have a problem with that?”

“No.” He stood and moved his hat off the empty chair. “You think you could call me Dan? I don’t think of myself as on duty while I’m eating.”

She slowly slipped into the place across from him and stared at the menu. Most men, including her father, were liars or manipulators. But this one had something about him that said he could be trusted, at least as long as lunch, anyway. All she had to figure out was if Sheriff Dan Brigman was what he seemed. Not that she planned to stay around long, but at least if those honest eyes were true, she might start to believe in people again.

It might be fun to eat a meal with someone for a change. She could pretend to be happy, and interested and normal.

She glanced at the menu for a few seconds more, then ordered the lunch special when the waitress appeared. The girl looked tired, or maybe bored, and wasn’t overly concerned with the last two customers in the place.

When the waitress went back through the kitchen door before it stopped swinging from her arrival, Brandi was suddenly aware that she was alone with the sheriff.

“You look exactly like the woman I pictured would be wearing that boot,” he said, as if trying to start a conversation.

“How’s that?”

“Wild and free. Beautiful.” He glanced down, twirling a chip in the tiny bowl of hot sauce.

There was that shy smile again, she thought. Another hint that the sheriff might be one of the real people in this world of marionettes. “You don’t mind if I’m wild, do you? I’d think a thing like that might make a sheriff nervous.”

“Nope. I don’t mind. You’re the kind of beautiful that could haunt a man’s dreams, Brandi Malone. Being wild just adds spice to perfection.”

No one had said such a nice thing to her in years. He seemed to be seeing her as she wanted to be. Wild and free, she almost whispered aloud.

To prove him right, Brandi leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

When she pulled away she whispered, “You taste like salsa, Sheriff.”

He just stared, and she swore she could be hypnotized by those steel-blue eyes.

Brandi ate one of his chips dipped in the hot sauce, then took a drink of his iced tea. He just kept watching her. No one had accused her of being wild and free for years, and she loved it. She loved the version of herself she saw in his eyes.

She glanced around the empty café. The lone waitress was probably in the back warming up the last two specials. “Aren’t you going to say something about me kissing you?”

He leaned back and spoke so low even if people had been at the next table they wouldn’t have heard. “I wouldn’t mind if you decided to do that again.”

Before she could decide, the waitress swung through the kitchen door with two plates of enchiladas.

“Maybe later.” She grinned like the wild woman he thought she was. “If I’m still around and you’re still available.” After all, how much harm could one more kiss do?

As they ate, the sheriff asked her where she was from and how she ended up at the Nowhere Club.

She avoided answering and asked him how long it had been since he’d been kissed.

Unlike her, Dan answered directly. “Three years ago on New Year’s Eve.”

Brandi nodded. “The midnight kiss. Openmouthed or closed?”

When he didn’t answer, she knew. Closed, she decided. She would have sworn the handsome sheriff was blushing.

“You’re right about me, Sheriff. But I’m drifting more than free. I live out of a suitcase and travel whenever and wherever I like. I’m not looking for a man to tame me or tie me down or tell me he loves me. I make no promises, but if you’d like to share a meal or something now and then, I might be interested.” Brandi couldn’t believe she was stepping out of her comfort zone to even think of getting together with him. But one kiss with him was like one taste of salsa on a salty chip. She wanted another.

Dan took a long drink of his iced tea.

She knew she’d shocked him, but if she was going to spend a while with a man for the first time in years, she wanted all the cards on the table. And, she decided, she wanted to be remembered as being someone’s unforgettable encounter, no matter how brief. She’d like to be the one woman, the one memory that would always make Dan Brigman smile.

He ate, and she picked at her food.

Finally, he broke the silence. “What time is your last set over tonight?”

“Eleven. Why?”

“I’ll pick you up for a late supper.”

“If you can find a place around here still open, I’ll be hungry.”

He left a twenty on the table and stood.

“I...” She’d told him she’d pick up the check, and she planned to.

“It’s not happening,” he answered, as if he knew what she was about to say.

She followed, already wondering if she’d done the right thing to join him here. She hated bossy men, but then maybe there was some kind of rule that sheriffs can’t accept gifts, even a lunch.

She’d been just fine staying away from men. She liked being alone. She hated strings and planned to live the rest of her life without getting attached to anyone. So why had she hinted at another promise? Another meeting? Why had she offered to spend time with him before she knew what kind of man he really was? Maybe honest blue eyes lied? She hadn’t been around enough to know.

Brandi mentally slapped herself. She was overthinking this. Just go with it. She was wild, remember.

Maybe it was enough that he had kissable lips and he made her feel young like she had ten years ago when she’d first been on the road. She’d been twenty-five then and loving the gypsy life of a singer.

When they stepped out of the restaurant into the little tin windbreaker foyer, the sheriff turned and helped her with her coat. The plastic window in the entryway door looked like it was shivering as wind howled over the cloudy day.

He lifted part of her curly hair, caught under her collar. “Before we step out I want to give you something back.”

Before she had time to say a word, he pushed her against the rattling, icy tin wall and kissed her full out. Openmouthed.

Her sheriff might be quiet, but he definitely wasn’t shy.

Brandi forgot all about being cold. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt alive. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back like this one kiss might be the last in her lifetime.

His arms tightened around her. She leaned into him. This wasn’t a first-time, hesitant kiss. She could feel him breathing, his heart pounding next to hers. A tiny spark came alive inside her where only dead embers had lain for so long.

When he broke the kiss, he didn’t say a word; he just circled his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly as they faced the wind and rushed back across the street.

Just inside the club, the whole world lost all sound. No one around. No music. He held her for a moment as though unable to let her go. Though he hadn’t moved, she could feel him pulling away, turning back into the in-control sheriff. His lips pressed against her forehead in a quick peck. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You, too,” she whispered, swearing she could see passion sparkle in his blue eyes.

Then, with a very formal nod, he turned and walked away without a word.

Brandi grinned as she watched him climb into his cruiser and thought she’d add that Toby Keith song “A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action” to her last set tonight. If the sheriff wanted someone wild and free, she could make it happen.

In a few weeks she’d drive away from this place. Maybe she’d take a memory of her own with her. But that was all she had room to pack.

A memory. Nothing more.

CHAPTER THREE

RAINY NIGHTS IN DALLAS were never as beautiful as they had been when she was a kid growing up at the lake house just outside Crossroads. There, the old cottonwoods whispered when the wind blew, and the rain tap-dancing on the water twenty feet from her window often lulled her to sleep.

Her hometown seemed a million miles away tonight. She stared out her apartment windows at the solid brick wall of the condo next door. No view.

If her pop wouldn’t think she was a failure, she’d load up all she owned in a U-Haul and drive back home. She could be there in five or six hours. She’d cook her father’s breakfast and then follow him to the county sheriff’s office, where she’d work all day organizing his files. They’d eat lunch at Dorothy’s Diner across the street and pretend she was sixteen again with the world waiting on her to grow up, and not twenty-five, waiting for the world to realize she was a failure.

Lauren pulled out her cell, thinking she could call her pop. It was almost nine. He’d probably be finishing up his day, heading home with his supper in a bag, looking forward to eating in front of the TV, which would be tuned to a football game. In an hour he’d be sound asleep in his recliner.

Pop was so predictable. When she was growing up, he cooked the same meals every week. Chili dogs on Monday, pancakes with burned sausage on Tuesday, grilled chicken and baked potatoes on Wednesday, meat loaf or spaghetti on Thursday. They had take-out pizza on Friday and leftovers, if there were any, on Saturday. Sundays they ate out or warmed up cans of soup. Oh, she almost forgot, they usually had hamburgers if he got home late. If she hadn’t learned to cook early, he probably would have stuck to that menu until she left for college. She was twelve before she knew appetizers could be something besides potato chips.

Now, their conversations were the same. For her, work was always great, yes, she was making friends, no, she didn’t need any money. For him, he’d tell her about the weather, talk about the folks in town who’d ask about her, and say no, he wasn’t lonely, he was doing fine.

Lauren shoved her cell back into her pocket. She didn’t call. Tonight she wasn’t sure she could stand to hear him tell her one more time how proud he was of her.

His Lauren was moving up, honing her skills as a writer. It wouldn’t be long until she finished a book and was on the bestseller list, he’d say. Crossroads just might have to open a bookstore in town with Lauren’s first book about to hit any day and Tim O’Grady working on his fourth novel.

She’d heard Pop brag to everyone, and she hadn’t said a word. She’d had three jobs in a year, all ending in being laid off. None in publishing. She was not moving up or working on her book. The chance of anyone from Crossroads filling a bookstore shelf was highly unlikely, with her manuscript unfinished and Tim’s novels all ebooks.

If the Crossroads Bookstore ever opened, the “local author” shelf would be empty.

Lauren jumped out of her self-pity when her phone buzzed.

Tim O’Grady’s name flashed along with his smiling face. She grinned and answered.

“Hello, Hemingway, don’t tell me you’ve just finished another book.” Lauren tried to sound happy. He always called to celebrate over the phone when he finished anything. The outline. The edit. The final draft.

She always acted excited, and she suspected he always tried his best to sound sober.

“Hi, L.”

For once he actually did sound sober.

“You able to talk? Not on a date or anything?” He paused. When she didn’t answer, he added, “And no, before you ask, the book’s not finished. Tonight I’m dealing with real life.”

“I’m home.” She dropped to the couch. “Alone. What’s up? Talk to me.” She needed a little bit of home, and talking to the boy she’d grown up next door to might help.

“I don’t know what you can do about it, but I need help. We’ve got a real mess here, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“What’s happened?” She could feel bad news coming and wished someone would invent an umbrella that could protect her for just one breath so she would be ready.

“Thatcher Jones is in jail.” Tim said the words fast, as if he had to get them out of his mouth. “He’s eighteen, so no juvie for him. He’s locked upstairs at the county offices.”

“What! Does Pop know? What happened? Is he okay?”

“Slow down, L.” Tim’s laugh didn’t have much humor in it. “Of course your pop knows. He’s the one who arrested him. Which was lucky for the kid. Thatcher’s easygoing, but when he gets mad, he blows up. Your pop can handle him.”

“Facts, Tim, give me the facts.”

“You know that truck stop on the Lubbock Highway? The one where we used to stop because you couldn’t make it all the way home from college without a potty break, then you’d complain about how dirty it was?”

“I remember. It has a little grocery store on one side. Carries two cans of everything, including motor oil.”

“Well, I don’t know why Thatcher was out there. It’s the opposite direction from Charley Collins’s place, and he said he was heading home from school. You’d think Charley would be a good influence on him. But I guess some people are just destined to cross with the law.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. Charley Collins had been as reckless as they come when he was in high school. His own father disowned him, but Charley was a good man and so was Thatcher. “Tim, stop sounding like a line from a book. Get back to what happened to Thatcher.”

She swore she could almost hear Tim nodding. “Right. Thatcher was in the store out at the truck stop with a backpack full of groceries that hadn’t been bought. He said he was bringing them back, but old Luther, who owns the place, didn’t believe him. Called Thatcher nothing but a lying thief. Said he’d known three generations of his people, and they were all trash.”

“What happened next?”

“Thatcher swung. Knocked Luther out, I heard.”

Lauren closed her eyes, almost able to see the scene in her mind. “Go on,” she whispered into her phone.

“Thatcher was the one who called 911. When the sheriff and medics got there, Luther said he was pressing charges for assault and robbery. The medics took Luther to the clinic to be checked, and your dad took Thatcher to jail.”

“No!”

Tim swore. “Believe me, L, your pop wasn’t happy about it. He looked like he was thinking of strangling the kid for making him do it.”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple hours ago. When I heard the sirens, I drove over to the county offices thinking whatever was happening might give me a plot idea. I could hear Thatcher yelling the minute I walked in the door. He was mad and scared and all wrapped up in nervous energy.”

Tim finally paused. When he spoke again, his words came slowly. “We can’t let him go to prison, L.”

She thought of mentioning that they were not his parents, but in a strange way the whole town was. Thatcher Jones had been over a year behind in school and living on the fringes of right and wrong when Charley Collins at the Lone Heart Ranch took him in. Anyone could see that the kid had a heart bigger than Texas, but he was proud and had a stubborn streak.

“What do we do?” Tim asked in a dull tone, as if he really didn’t expect her to answer.

“You’re right. We have to fix this. Thatcher saved Pop’s life once. He might have been only fourteen or fifteen then, but he ran through gunfire to get Pop to safety. Pop will do his job, he’s always played by the book, but he’ll help where he can, too.” Her logical mind began to put all the pieces she knew together. “Why would Thatcher steal food? I’ve heard Charley’s place is going great.”

“He swears he didn’t. Says he was just bringing the canned goods back, but he says he doesn’t remember who he got them from. Wouldn’t even tell the sheriff if it was a man or woman who must have stole them in the first place. Just says he can’t say.” Tim laughed. “While Luther was out cold, Thatcher put the food back on the shelf, so there is some confusion as to exactly what was taken.”

“So there is no evidence of a crime?”

“Right, unless you count the shiner on Luther’s face.” Tim hesitated. “L, you were in law school once. You’ll figure out something.”

“I never took the bar, remember. I decided to be a writer. Only that doesn’t seem to be working out so well for me. I don’t think taking customer complaints at the mall counts as training.” She didn’t want to go into all the reasons she was failing. Part of her wanted to simply say she was failing to thrive out in the real world.

“Come home.” Tim ended the silence, his voice already pulling her. “Thatcher needs you and I miss you.”

“I’ll see if I can get off by noon tomorrow. I’ll be there by five.”

“Great.” Tim hesitated. “How about staying with me this time? I’ve completely remodeled my folks’ old place on the lake. You’d like it. Plus, your pop knows you’re an adult. He’d understand. You could just say we’re having an adult sleepover.”

“I’ll think about it,” she answered. Tim had asked before, but she wasn’t ready for any commitment between them. Staying over at his place meant sleeping together. “I’ll call when I’m close to Crossroads so you can meet me at the county offices.” She hung up without saying goodbye, then sat very still thinking of Tim, not Thatcher.

She’d grown up with Tim O’Grady, gone skinny-dipping in the lake with him when they were ten. Spent a thousand hours talking with him. He was her best friend.

A friend with benefits, she thought, though she could count their nights together on her fingers. Of course she loved him, but not in the way he wanted her to love him. When they occasionally slept together, it was more out of a need not to be alone than passion. She hated that she thought of his loving as vanilla, but somehow she wanted more. Everyone said they were right for each other, a match. Only everyone was wrong.

Tim loved her, really loved her, but she couldn’t love him back. They never talked about it, but somehow they both knew the truth, and that one silent truth broke both their hearts.

She’d go home. She’d find a way to help Thatcher. But this time she wouldn’t sleep with Tim. Even though it felt good for a while. Even though they both understood the silent rules.

She wouldn’t sleep with Tim because she couldn’t bear the look he’d give her when she had to walk away. Every time. Always.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tuesday

WEAK AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT filtered through the blinds, reminding Dan Brigman another hour had passed without sleep, and the day was only getting worse. He’d barely had time to hug his daughter before she was storming up the steps toward the third floor of the county offices. The tapping rain off and on all afternoon had already given him a headache, and having Lauren show up to interfere with his job wasn’t helping.

He’d left the sexy singer yesterday after lunch, looking forward to seeing her again before midnight, but a call came in an hour after he got back to the office that ended that possibility. Since four o’clock yesterday, he’d had to arrest a kid he cared about for assault, then field a dozen calls from people telling him how to do his job. Midnight passed with him sitting up in the third-floor lockup with a teenager who refused to talk about what he’d done. Now, after he’d had no sleep for nearly thirty hours, his daughter arrived, demanding to know if he’d lost his mind.

At this point, Dan wasn’t sure his ears still worked. The whole town could take turns telling him how to be sheriff, and he still wouldn’t let Thatcher Jones out until the judge set bail. Once he knew how much it would take, Dan had already decided he’d pay it himself.

His daughter was running through facts he already knew about the crime, so Dan simply followed one step behind as she headed upstairs.

“Now calm down, Lauren,” he finally commented when she breathed. “We’re doing all we can. The judge says he can bail out if he’ll give a statement, but Thatcher isn’t cooperating.”