Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (7 page)

With every mile his bike covered he cussed a blue streak. He should’ve tossed her back in the jail cell for the night. Nothing good came from private investigators, especially women who played at being one.

Damn, damn, damn
.

The Wagon Wheel’s parking lot was filled with a couple of eighteen wheelers and cars that had mostly seen better days. No Lexuses or BMWs among the bunch. In fact, the only vehicle that had any street value was Bobby’s little Toyota. He maneuvered his bike next to it, so he wouldn’t have far to go after he hauled her fanny out of the tavern.

The twangy sound of a steel guitar playing the bridge to an old Conway Twitty song blasted Gage’s ears as he entered. It was the kind of place where a man could down a few drinks with the guys without some tight-assed woman whining at him. The tables were covered with red-and-white plastic tablecloths. Dartboards and neon-trimmed beer signs hung on the walls and over the bar. If a fight broke out or the toilets overflowed, well, it just added to the place’s ambiance.

In one half of the tavern sat felt-covered pool tables where three guys decked out in biker leathers and worn jeans held pool cues while a fourth took his shot. Half-drunk beers sat in clear mugs on the tables lining the poolroom. Two women he knew were the area’s working prostitutes sat on barstools flirting with the men watching the game. Tonight was their lucky night. There was only one woman he planned on taking out of here.

At the bar sat two regulars, Harv and Mac. The two men must be near eighty. They’d served in Korea together, were widowed and spent every night at the bar just to keep from going home to their empty houses. Luckily they only drank a couple of beers while they reminisced and he’d never had to arrest either for DUI.

As Gage scanned the room it took a moment for him to find Bobby, but that was only because she’d managed to get herself caught at a corner table with two burly men who blocked his view.

Her gaze met his and she barely hid the slight look of panic in them. Something hot and feral leapt inside him. No one was going to hurt her, not on his watch. His first instinct was to pummel both men, then carry Bobby, over his shoulder if necessary, out of the tavern.

For a moment he studied her and the two men. She didn’t seem to be in any
real
trouble. She took a bite of her cheeseburger and smiled at one of the men. The same kind smile she’d given Cleetus, but not him. Most women would be nervous being cornered by two strange men, whom he’d bet were truckers staying at the same motel she was. The naїve woman seemed to be trying to sweet-talk them.

What was the matter with him? Not like she was his responsibility. Last he checked America was still a free country and the woman had the right to get herself raped or killed if she wanted to. He ought to just turn around and head home.

Wait a minute. Why should he be the one to go home? He was here. The food was good. A bottle of Jack was behind the bar. Might as well have a shot. It might be fun to watch the lady detective get herself out of this mess.

He sauntered over to the bar.

“Evening, Sheriff.” Ralph, the Wagon Wheel’s owner and chief bartender greeted him, setting a shot glass in front of him and filling it with the fine amber whiskey. “You’re a little late tonight, aren’t you?”

Did Ralph really know his habits so well? He didn’t come in every night to drink. Or did he? He certainly had when he’d first come back to Westen last year. He’d needed something to chase away the nightmares so he could sleep. Dad had been patient with him, even driving by to take him home on those first nights when he’d nearly drunk himself into a stupor. But after a few months at home his nightmares had eased. Subsequently, he’d had to deal with his father’s cancer and death. Now he only had one drink. Something else he’d promised his dad.

“Had a council meeting tonight.” Gage straddled a barstool at an angle that let him easily observe the corner table behind him through the bar’s mirror.

“Maybe I ought to pour you a double,” the bartender laughed.

“No thanks, Ralph.” As tempting as the idea was, Gage had a feeling he’d better keep his wits about him. Who knew what trouble Ms. Roberts could get herself into? “Although, just listening to Mayor Rawlins drone on about his plans for the town would make a Baptist minister drink.”

Ralph laughed again. “That it would, Sheriff.”

The crowd by the pool tables called for more beer and Ralph went to pour another pitcher. Gage sipped his whiskey, his back to the corner Bobby sat in, but he could see every detail in the mirror across from him.

The little brunette nodded at something one of the men said, picking up her burger and sinking her perfectly straight white teeth into the bread and meat. Wonder what it would feel like having those pearly whites nibble their way over his skin. Heat surged to his groin and he swallowed hard, nearly choking on the whiskey.

What was it about this woman that had him thinking like some hormone-crazed teenager? The last time he’d had this problem was when he’d seen Maureen Yoder in her bikini at the high school swim meet his freshman year. Now, getting all hot and bothered over Maureen he could understand. The girl had the figure of a Playboy pinup.

He glanced in the mirror. But Ms. Roberts? She looked more like the pinup of the year for the National Education Association. Wholesome. Sweet. Nothing to really stand her out in a crowd. Well, nothing if you didn’t include that nice ass.

“Ralph.” He called the other man over as he stepped behind the bar once more. “How about asking Margie to throw me a burger on the grill?”

“Sure thing, Sheriff. Fries, too?”

Gage glanced at the mirror where his little detective still held court. He was pretty sure only one of his hungers was getting eased tonight. “Might as well.”

Since laughter emitted from the corner booth and neither man had made an unwanted move on Bobby, Gage leaned over the bar and sipped his whiskey while he watched the sports channel on the bar’s TV. Once his food arrived, he split his attention between watching Bobby and catching up on the day’s baseball scores as he ate. Every so often he’d glance into the mirror to find Bobby’s gaze on him. For a moment he’d watch her, always waiting until she looked away.

Three more bites and he’d be finished. Afterward he’d have to convince her it was time to return to the hotel. He just had to remember they were getting separate rooms.

A movement in the mirror caught his attention. She’d stood, slipped her purse on her shoulder and was moving his way.

Great. He didn’t want to leave his dinner unfinished, but there was no way he wasn’t following her back to the motel.

“Hope your dinner was as good as mine, Sheriff,” she said right behind him just as he took half of his remaining burger in one big bite. She sauntered away, only she didn’t head for the exit. Oh no, not her.

Instead she went through the hallway to the restrooms.

Dammit.
Of course she wouldn’t do the sensible thing and head for home. No, she’d hang around and give the men who’d been eyeing her all night time to muster up their courage to do something stupid. He glanced in the mirror. The beefier guy, dressed in a plaid shirt, faded jeans and the Gone Fishin’ baseball cap leaned across to his buddy and whispered something. Tall and skinny, with the stocking cap on, grinned and nodded in the direction Bobby had just headed.

Yep. They were going to do something stupid.

He ate one last fry, looked at his bill and fished the money out of his wallet. He laid them both on the bar next to his plate and fixed his sheriff’s badge onto his front shirt pocket once more. Leaning back in his chair, gaze fixed on the hallway, he waited.

Bobby took a deep breath before opening the restroom door. Despite what her dinner companions suggested, she wasn’t going to dance tonight. Maybe if she were lucky, they got tired of waiting and left the tavern. If she were going to wish for the impossible, she might as well wish the sheriff gone, too.

She couldn’t believe it when he’d walked into the tavern. For a moment she’d been relieved that he’d come and rescue her from the two truckers who’d cornered her. But no, he planted himself at the bar instead. At first she thought she’d been mistaken and he hadn’t really seen her, except she’d caught him watching her in the mirror. He’d seemed rather pleased by her dilemma.

So much for a knight in shining armor. She hadn’t needed a man’s help since her father died, and she could get herself out of this pickle without one now.

Okay, what’s the plan?

Make a beeline straight for the door. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look around to see if the sheriff is watching. Once outside, get in the car. Lock the car doors. Head back to the motel.

Right. Simple.

She pulled the door open, clutched her purse by the strap on her shoulder, and headed toward the tavern door.

Another country song suddenly blared from the jukebox.

“Hey there, little lady,” someone grabbed her by the arm.

She looked up to see Carl—at least she was pretty sure that’s what the bigger of the two men had called himself—grinning down at her.

“How about we have us a little dance?”

“Um,” she tried to pull away from the grip he had on her arm, at the same time keeping a smile plastered on her face. “I don’t really know how to do country dancing.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” He pulled her up against his body, and grabbed hold of her other hand. “I can teach ya everything ya need to know.”

“Carl, I really need to head home.” She straightened her arms to put some much-needed breathing room between her and her dance partner. The combination of body odor and too many beers threatened to have her revisiting her dinner.

“The night ain’t over, yet. Me and Slim want to dance ‘til dawn.”

“Um, don’t you have to get your cargo to California?” She closed her eyes as he whirled her around. She wasn’t going to fall and cause a scene. Especially with the sheriff sitting at the bar watching them. Once Carl had stopped trying to twirl her like a top, she opened her eyes, meeting Gage’s amused gaze in the bar’s mirror.

The big lug still wasn’t going to help her. Okay. She didn’t need his help. She could get herself out of this. Things weren’t that bad. The two truckers simply wanted a dance.

“We ain’t got nothin’ perishable in our trucks this time, so we can be a day later if we want.” Carl tried to pull her closer again.

This time she was ready for him. She straightened her arm and at the same time brought her shoe down hard on his foot. Which immediately gained her another inch of space. “Oh, I’m sorry. I never was good at dancing.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just slow down a little.” With those words, he slowed to a short step of a waltz, released his hold on her waist and slipped his hand down to cup her butt.

No way was she going to let him maul her in a public place. “Now, Carl, I agreed to a dance.” Actually she hadn’t but couldn’t see that argument getting her any closer to the door. She slipped her free hand down, pried his fingers loose and attached his beefy hand back to her waist. She smiled to ease the message. “But only if you’re a gentleman.”

When he turned her once more, she glanced at the sheriff. He’d turned on his barstool and sat watching them. The brim of his baseball cap and the bar’s dim lighting prevented her from really seeing his eyes, but it looked like all traces of humor had left his face.

Interesting. Wonder what caused that reaction?

“Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend in California?” She smiled up at Carl again. No reaction from Gage.

“Yeah. I got one there and in South Carolina, too. I just got too much lovin’ not to spread it around.” He leered at her once more and slipped his hand down to her butt again.

This time she hesitated a moment before moving the man’s hand back to her waist. A movement from the bar caught her attention. Gage had left his seat, his attention focused on the dance area. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, he didn’t want the trucker groping her butt any more than she did, which was odd. Nearing forty she’d given up hope of having buns of steel some time ago. And wasn’t that what all men wanted? At least TV and magazines said so.

After a moment, Gage made a beeline straight for them, a scowl on his face. Apparently he’d decided to intervene. Too little, too late. No way was she going to let him think he’d rescued her.

“Now, Carl. As much as those two ladies don’t mind sharing you, I’m not really looking for a new friend.” She pushed back as the song came to an end and pulled her hand out of his. “It’s time for me to go now.”

“But little lady, Slim needs a dance, too. Don’t ya’, Slim?” Carl stepped forward, corralling her toward his buddy.

Bobby held her ground. “I said, I’m done, now let me go!” She shoved him back, at the same time keeping an eye on Gage’s approaching form.

“The lady said she wants to leave,” he said in that deep, I’m-in-charge-here voice of his. “I suggest you let her leave.”

“Look, buddy, this little lady’s ours. Go find your own…” Carl stopped mid-sentence as he turned. Beads of sweat suddenly popped out on his forehead and all the blood rushed out of his face, leaving him a large mass of pale, quivering flesh looking into the face of imminent death. “Uh, hey, Sheriff. We wasn’t causing no trouble.”

“If that’s the case, I suggest you move away and let the lady leave.” The command had Carl stumbling two steps out of the path between Gage and Bobby.

Gage reached over and grasped her elbow, pulling her toward him and the door. “It’s time to leave, Bobby.”

“Now look here, Sheriff.” She tried to pull her arm away. “You can’t order me about. I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

“Now.” He gave her a little shove toward the door, releasing her arm. “Before I have to cite you for disturbing the peace.”

She wanted to ask him whose peace he thought she was disturbing, but the threat of the small jail cell in her future stopped the retort on the tip of her tongue.

Except for the new song playing on the jukebox the tavern fell silent. The pool players moved closer, leaning on their cues, waiting to see what would happen next.