Cowboy at Midnight (7 page)

When she reached her Toyota, a hot wind blew through the trees and made her ponytail flutter against her nape. She remembered Steve's burning mouth there. Memories of his mouth, hot and seeking in even more intimate places, made her tender pelvis ache. How was she ever going to get through her day if she kept thinking about last night?

 

Steve was only five minutes late to the governor's office; however, Tom kept him waiting because he'd had to fit an important state senator into his schedule before their breakfast meeting.

“Crisis about school funding,” his secretary had said rather wearily as she'd handed Steve coffee. “But you're lucky. The later it is in his day, the farther behind he runs.”

While Steve sipped black coffee in the waiting room, he thought about Miss Sally Jones. Strangely, he kept remembering her haunted blue eyes more than he did the red-hot sex. Which meant if he really were the smart triplet, he'd forget about playing detective. He was probably lucky as hell she'd run.

Rescuing damsels in distress was a bad habit of his. You couldn't save people. He knew that from Jack and
Madison. People had to save themselves. When a man tried to save a woman and failed, the woman usually repaid him by hating him for having gotten her hopes up.

At least, Madison had.

Okay, you got off easy this time. You had a night of uncomplicated sex.

Like hell.

He wanted her again.

Was he a wimp or what? Women were supposed to feel romantic after sex. Not men.

He wanted her again.

He got up and asked the secretary for the yellow pages. Opening the thick book, he flipped pages until he landed on boot makers.

Don't even think about jotting a number down.

He scribbled a few names and numbers just for the hell of it. Not that he was about to call any of them. He was still trying to talk himself out of calling as he reached for his cell phone.

Hell.

She'd run out on him. If it was that easy for her to walk out, he should forget her. He wadded up the paper with the boot makers' numbers, got up and stalked to the trash can.

It was hard to walk back to his chair without that crumpled ball of paper, but he was through being a self-destructive sap who thought he could save people.

No more Madisons!

No more Sallys!

It was high time he remembered he was the smart triplet and started acting the part.

But what if she needed him? Really needed him to—

He leaned forward and breathed deeply. Then he clenched his hands and raked through his dark hair. Again he thought about those phone numbers in the trash can.

Somehow he stayed put in his chair.

 

Breakfast with the governor was in a tacky back room at a little taqueria on Congress Avenue. Tom was a big bear of a man with a voracious appetite, at least where food was concerned. He was addicted to these particular taquitos.

“I have to have at least one a week,” Tom had said during their short, brisk walk to the taqueria. The governor had glad-handed every stranger he met on the sidewalk, even the homeless beggars. His security men had followed them like a pack of nervous guard dogs.

One taquito—hell! Tom had gulped down four already.

Steve shoved his empty plate aside. After eating three of the giant taquitos smothered in hot sauce the governor had ordered for him, Steve felt too full and wished he'd reined in a little.

Meanwhile Tom was still firing questions at him in between bites, demanding details about the layout of the Loma Vista Ranch where the Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet to honor Ryan Fortune for his charitable works on environmental issues was to be held come next November.

“Since my office is sponsoring this event to honor Ryan, it has to go off without a hitch,” Tom said, wiping his lips with a napkin. “We'll have a lot of high-profile
guests. My reputation is at stake. You can't be too careful about security these days, either. Not to mention November is election month. I have enemies. Lots of them.”

“I have a meeting with Ryan and Lily at the ranch around eleven if you're free today to see the place for yourself,” Steve said.

“Short notice. Probably can't make it,” Tom said brusquely. “Overcommitted on talking to people about this school-funding issue. Not that it matters. I pay for eyes and ears and brains, too.” He grabbed his cell phone. “What if I send my events planner out today? She can report back to me with the answers to all my questions. I'll send along some security people, as well.”

Before Steve could say it didn't have to be today, Tom was on the phone barking at the obviously overworked, overpressured Burke so vigorously Steve almost felt sorry for her.

Odd name for a woman, Steve thought, imagining a tough, masculine, schoolteacher type. Who else could handle Tom full-time?

“So, cancel your meetings,” Tom growled when Burke apparently balked at being ordered to be at the ranch by eleven.

Tom was silent for a brief moment, a deep crease wrinkling his brow as he pretended to listen. “Look,” he interrupted. “Just tell the hotel people they can take us or stay empty.” Burke must have put up some sort of fight because Tom paused again. “How many times do I have to tell you? The hotel industry is a high fixed-cost business. They need us more than we need them.”

Again Tom fell into a state of sullen agitation while
she must have tried to explain something. “Just do it,” he ordered impatiently. His big face grew animated again. “Great. Great. Okay. Now that that's settled, your next priority
today
is to do what I just told you to do. Get out to Steve Fortune's Loma Vista Ranch.”

He hesitated. “Yes, I said
Steve.
Have you met him or something?” Again there was a pause. “Okay, then. Get there with all my best security people by eleven o'clock sharp.”

When she interrupted Tom again, he shook his head, really frowning this time. “I don't care how difficult it is. Just do your job and make the arrangements, so I can do mine.” His voice was cold. “My secretary will fax yours a map to his ranch along with directions.” He hung up without bothering to say goodbye.

“I could meet with her another time if it's inconvenient for her,” Steve offered. “Give me her number.”

“No. Draw me a map,” Tom said almost curtly. “She'll be there. I want her feedback today.” Tom's blue eyes sparked, but he smiled genially as he whipped a pen out of his shirt pocket and began to scribble on a notepad.

“I'm not always so tough on Burke. It's just that lately she's seemed distracted, especially today. Burke's only a few years older than my daughter, Lanie, but she's sensible. To tell the truth, Lanie's still a little wild.”

Wild.
Wildness was warmth flooding your entire body when you tasted violets as you licked a soft, molten breast tattooed with the letter
L.

“Any tattoos?” Steve muttered gloomily.

“What? Tattoos?”

“Nothing,” Steve said quickly, willing Sally to leave him the hell alone.

“Tattoos?” Tom said. “Burke?” He burst out laughing.

“She's thirty—going on sixty. Thirty yesterday as a matter of fact. I don't think she's taking it too well.”

An alarm bell went off in Steve's brain.

Thirty yesterday… Like Sally.

The coincidence struck an odd note with him.

“You'll never meet a straighter, duller type than Burke,” Tom said. “Not that I'm complaining. She's efficient and organized. Smart, too. Like her mother, who's an old friend of mine and major fund-raiser for the party. Carole's a high-powered trial attorney. Burke comes to work when I call her, no matter what the hour. Doesn't mind me calling her at any time of the day or night, either. She's the perfect gopher.”

“Does she have a life?”

“She says she doesn't want one.”

“Did you ever ask her why?”

“Why? I like it that she lives to serve me.”

“Boyfriends?” Why the hell had he asked that?

“Burke lives like a nun. I'm not saying she couldn't be attractive—if she tried.”

Steve thought of Sally, who'd said she didn't date, either.

“I can't wait to meet her,” Steve said. “Eleven o'clock sharp.”

“You'll be impressed. With her in charge, the Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet will go off without a hitch.”

“An events-planner robot.”

Tom's automatic grin froze as he focused on Steve's dark face. “You know, kid, you're single. So is Burke. You could do worse. A whole lot worse. Burke comes from important people. But, hell, on second thought, stay away from her. I'd be tempted to hack the privates off any man who stole her from me.”

“Don't worry. I'm already in love with somebody else.” Steve stared at the governor in shock. “Forget I said that.”

“Sure.” He grinned.

As Steve raised his hand to signal for the check, a longing for Sally that verged on pain surged through him.

When the waiter brought the check, he grabbed it and bolted from his chair. He had to find Sally.

But later.

First he had to deal with Burke.

S
o where was the paragon?

Steve's gaze wandered from the barn to the outbuildings as he held the screen door open. His ranch was crawling with Burke's people—caterers, entertainers, decorators, security guys and electricians.

But no Burke.

“Do we have a contingency plan, just in case you don't finish with construction?” Ryan Fortune asked, interrupting Steve's thoughts as he and Lily stepped out onto the warm, sun-dappled porch of Steve's ranch house and stood beside the new rust-colored King Ranch rockers.

The trouble was he'd been renovating the house for Madison. When she'd jilted him, he'd fired the best contractor in the county. Later, when he'd decided to go
ahead with the project, he hadn't been able to get anybody but James, who liked to hunt and fish more than he liked to build.

“There've been delays, but it'll be done in time.” Swearing under his breath when he saw Burke's people running in all directions, Steve led Ryan and Lily down the sidewalk. He'd just given them a tour of the house.

Now that they were outside, the light and the heat were enough to melt one's bones.

“Mel would approve of what you've done. The house is lovely,” Lily said, turning back to look at it as she clutched Ryan's arm when they paused in the shade beneath a canopy of mesquite trees. “Really lovely. Authentic. Perfect. Madison—”

“It will be perfect,” Steve said, interrupting her.

He stared at the two-story limestone mansion with its wraparound porches, his broad chest swelling with pride and happiness, not caring in the least that Madison was out of the picture even though they'd begun the remodeling together, thinking they'd live in it after they were married.

“It's so sweet of you to host the Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet. It means so much to Ryan that you—”

“Don't mention it. Ryan's done more for me than I can ever repay. He's like a second father.”

Ryan smiled at him fondly and then at Lily, whose dark eyes glowed with love. They looked good together, Steve thought. Like a lot of the local community, he was glad they'd finally found each other again.

They'd fallen in love as kids but had been cruelly separated. They'd both had earlier marriages. Now they
couldn't seem to stop touching each other or watching each other. It was almost as if they were both afraid to let the other out of their sight for fear they'd lose each other again. Steve's gut twisted as he thought of Sally. He wanted that kind of deep, enduring love, too.

Hand in hand, the Fortunes walked ahead of him toward the barn. They were both dark and tall and still incredibly handsome. Their hair hadn't grayed even though they were nearly sixty. Ryan had worked the land all his life, and it showed. He was tanned and muscular and moved with a quick, light step despite the heat.

Lily, who had started off as the Fortunes' hired help, was still slim and voluptuous. Looking at her today, nobody would ever guess that this regal woman in white silk slacks and the crisp white blouse had ever been a maid. She had high cheekbones, and her glossy black hair was swept back from her face in a sleek twist. She'd come a long way from the days when she'd scrubbed linoleum floors on her knees.

Steve's gaze drifted past them, and he scanned the oak trees and rocky terrain that shimmered in the mid-morning heat for any sign of the events planner or James, his good-ol'-boy contractor or his workers. The carpenters, masons and painters were gone, and so were their trucks with those annoying bumper stickers that read, I'd Rather Be Fishing. Early lunch again, Steve supposed. He sure as hell hoped they didn't take a siesta or go fishing all afternoon. Hell, why couldn't they bring sandwiches?

At least the governor's security guys had shown up on time, so Tom would have his answers. Steve had
counted six so far. They wore black slacks and white T-shirts and were swarming all over the house and grounds.

Striding over to one of the security guys who was filming the outside of his mansion with a video camera, Steve held out his hand and introduced himself. The man, who had sandy hair, friendly blue eyes and a muscular body, gripped his hand and shook vigorously.

“Randy Freeman.”

“Steve Fortune.” Steve hesitated. “So where's Burke?”

“You mean Amy?”

“The governor's events planner?”

“One and the same. Amy Burke-Sinclair. She gave me a ride here. Asked me to drive 'cause she had lots of calls to make.”

“So, where is she?”

“I last saw her in the cook house. She's around here somewhere.”

“Then why the hell hasn't she introduced herself?”

“She's catching hell because the governor canceled an event at the last moment. The hotel people are threatening massive penalties, and her job is on the line with the agency she works for. But, hey, if I see her, I'll sure tell her you're looking for her.”

Randy smiled and then lifted his camera and began to shoot again.

Ryan and Lily were talking to two security men under an oak tree. Steven looked past them and saw from behind a young, nondescript blonde carrying a briefcase and a cell phone. Her ponytail bounced as she
sashayed, and that was definitely the word for the way her cute behind bounced as she damn near galloped into his barn.

On second thought, at least from the back, she didn't look dull. Despite vanilla-colored slacks and a long-sleeved blouse, which covered her from chin to toe, she had a spectacular figure. At least he thought so. Her cell phone must have rung because she lifted it to her ear.

“Burke,” he yelled.

In fact, hers was a seriously cute butt.

Damn it, if there wasn't something familiar about that behind.

Something damnably familiar…

 

Steve. Oh, God! Steve Fortune
is
my Steve.

Not
my
Steve, she thought, mentally correcting herself as she glanced warily up at the sky. What were the chances of something like this happening?

Less than a lightning bolt striking her out of that clear, blue sky. Was somebody up there out to get her?

Amy's heart was thudding violently as she fought to concentrate on the hotel manager's scathing denunciations while ducking behind an oak tree to hide from Steve.

Julio, the hotelier, was even more furious than her favorite caterer had been, and she didn't blame him. Due to budget problems and Tom's decision, she'd been forced to cancel Julio, and there was nothing she could do now but damage control.

Poor guy. The reason she always used him was that he worked so hard. She would have to send him a note as well as a little gift.

She hated confrontations, and she dreaded facing Steve after last night. How were they going to work together after…

Racing into the barn to get herself together, she inhaled the sweet odors of hay and leather and oats. Her footsteps rang on the concrete, scaring two swallows into swooping down at her from the rafters.

Protecting their nest probably, she thought, forgetting her conversation with Steve. A skinny yellow barn cat that had been napping on a sack of pellets sat up and arched his back. His slitted yellow eyes never left her as he curled his wiry, bottlebrush tail underneath him and settled back down to nap in the shadows again.

Instantly the suffocating heat and the sights and smells took her back to other barns and to Lexie. Oh, how they'd laughed together as they'd raced to grab bridles and blankets off the wall and tack up their horses. Her eyes misted.

Don't remember. It hurts too much. Even if Lexie was alive, you can't ever be that foolish, brave, loving girl again.

Hugging her briefcase against her chest, Amy closed her eyes for a long moment. Then she opened them. She had to focus on the disaster at hand.

Of all the bad luck! Steven Fortune was
her
Steve. She'd nearly fainted when she'd seen him walk out of his ranch house with Ryan Fortune. When she placed a hand over her left breast, her heart slammed into it. She had to calm down and figure out a way to act professionally before she faced him.

When a horse stomped and neighed impatiently from
one of the stalls, Amy was drawn to the familiar sound. Tiptoeing up to the stall, she found a gorgeous black horse stomping about on a bed of pine shavings.

The filly had a lot of Arabian blood in her. Good blood. Egyptian probably. Amy gazed into her wise, somber eyes and was immediately comforted by the horse's silent, eloquent message.

More than anything Amy wanted to unlatch the door and go inside and stroke the large darling until she felt strong enough to face Steve and the hotel people again.

“Sally?” Steve's deep voice was low and hoarse.

Amy jerked at the sound of that name. So, he'd recognized her, too.

Off to her right she saw a tall ladder leading to the loft. If she climbed it, maybe he would think she'd gone out the back way or he might simply give up his search and she'd have a few minutes to pull her thoughts together.

As she rushed through the sweltering darkness toward it, Amy thought she heard the
chop-chop
of helicopter rotors outside. Tom?

Tom had said he'd try to come, if he could get free, which was the last thing she needed after her nightmarish morning. The governor was decisive about big matters, but when it came to planning meetings and events he wasn't. He always demanded the best of everything in the beginning stages before contracts were signed. Then, when she had people hired, contracts signed and a workable budget, he'd say the costs were too high, bark a few orders and snap the rug out from under her, and she'd have to start over.

Stuffing her phone and purse into her briefcase, she scrambled up the ladder to the loft.

“Sally?”

The sound of that deep voice cut off Amy's breath as she crouched low against the wall of his barn.

“Sally?” he repeated. “I mean Burke or Amy,” Steve muttered, sounding even more confused than she felt.

Go away. Leave me alone. Too much is happening too fast.

When he walked past the Arabian, the filly nickered to him, too. His heavy footsteps paused.

“Hi there, Noche. How are you doing, girl? How's the leg? Feeling any better? Had any visitors lately? Strangers?”

He left the horse then and stalked over to the ladder. “Miss Burke? If you're up there, come down. We've got a lot to discuss.”

How could he sound so perfectly reasonable when this situation was so crazy?

Even when she heard his boot on the first rung of the ladder, she didn't cry out. She kept thinking maybe she could put this off until she was stronger.

Her mouth went dry as she remembered him stripping her and then holding her against his living room wall, her booted legs wrapped around his lean waist. He'd been so wild, she was still sore.

The higher he climbed, the lower she hunkered behind the hay bales. Even if he came up here, maybe he wouldn't see her.

When he sprang as quietly as a large cat onto the floor of the loft, she could almost feel his eyes seeking her in the scorching darkness.

“Miss Burke, I know you're up here,” he said softly. “Because there's nowhere else you could be. What I don't know is why you're hiding. This is crazy. It's hotter than Hades up here.”

Beads of salty perspiration dripped into her eyes and she wiped her brow.

“I don't know about you, but I'm sweating like a pig,” he said.

She bit her tongue to keep from lashing out that pigs didn't sweat. He was right about it being hot, though. There wasn't a breath of air in the loft. Her hair was wet, and sticky moisture was trickling down her breasts. Five minutes more of this and she'd look like she'd been swimming in her vanilla silk pants.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her briefcase. Slowly she got up off the floor, held her chin at a proud angle and walked up to Steve, who loomed over her. Standing in a ray of brilliance that sifted down from a high window, he blocked the only way down.

“So, it
is
you,” he said, his eyes lighting with fires that burned her. “I was going to call every boot maker in Texas. This has to be a sign, darlin'.”

“Maybe for you.”

“Right.” That sudden light in his eyes that connected them went out. He swallowed hard as if something in his throat refused to go down.

Still, no matter what, she couldn't encourage him. Pretending an indifference she was far from feeling, she drew a deep breath and fanned herself with her hand.

If the heat was bothering him, he didn't let on. In a crisp
white work shirt and starched jeans, he seemed taller and even more broad-shouldered than she remembered.

“You don't give up, do you?” she muttered.

“So, you gave me a false name last night?” His voice was smooth, but the brief flash of hurt in his dark eyes made her wince.

“Because I was serious about never wanting to see you again.”

“Top of the morning to you, too, darlin'.” Then his dark eyes glanced past her as if it hurt him too much to look at her.

“Don't tease,” she whispered, feeling agonized, which was ridiculous.

“Who's teasing?” An impenetrable mask concealed his true emotions. Even so, the suppressed edge of passion in his low voice cut her. “My memories of you are apparently fonder than yours are of me. Hell, I saw your cute butt and ran to find you.”

“Just what I want to think of as my most memorable quality.”

His sudden grin made the air go out of her lungs.

“I haven't been able to forget you, you know,” he muttered gloomily.

“It's only been a few hours.”

“You know what I mean.”

Scant inches separated their bodies. She wanted so much to touch him, to apologize. She ached with needs she didn't want.

“Quite a coincidence…you being Burke,” he finally muttered.

“I prefer to call it rotten luck.”