Going Cowboy Crazy (37 page)

Shit. He had never seen Hope cry in his life.

“Now, Hope, honey, it’s nothing to get all upset about. I might be tired, but it’s not going to take any time at all to drive you out there.”

“N-no.” She shook her head. It was strange but only her head moved; the hat and braids stayed stationary. “I don’t want you to take me anywhere.”

Then before Slate’s mind could get around the weird thing he’d just witnessed, she jerked up the handle and jumped down. The pack of stray dogs that always hung around trooped around the corner of the house. Spying Hope, the lead hound ran toward her, but halfway there he skidded to a halt, turned tail, and ran back the way he’d come, the other dogs following on his heels.

Slate’s eyes narrowed. Hope had always had a way with dogs, unlike Faith, who could almost kill them with kindness. His gaze returned to the woman who walked up the path to the front door. Gone was the strut with too much wiggle, and in its place was a feminine stride with just enough. Enough to send heat to Slate’s crotch and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He was out of the Yukon before she even reached the steps.

“Faith!”

The last of his doubt evaporated when she swung around, the hat and braids now sitting at a crooked angle on her head.

Slate wanted to race up and jerk the damned disguise off. Instead he slowed his pace and tried to steady the wild thumping of his heart.

“Well, well.” He slipped his trembling hands in his back pockets. “
The Prince and the Pauper
comes to Bramble. Of course, you’ll have to get a larger audience if you want to make it to Broadway.” He didn’t stop until the toes of his boots were inches from her scuffed brown ones. “Or did you have another purpose in mind?” He grabbed one fake braid and tugged the hat around. “Like maybe making a fool out of a dumb cowboy?”

Faith stared up at him. Even with her back to the
porch, the light was enough to see the tears brimming in her eyes. It took sheer determination to hang on to his anger. Especially when all he wanted to do was grab her up in his arms and absorb the heat of her skin. The subtle scent of peaches. The softness of each curve. But before he could make a complete fool of himself, he noticed the large bump on her nose and the faint yellow bruises beneath each eye.

He grabbed her arms. “Who hit you?” She flinched, and he loosened his grip, but it wasn’t easy, not when blind rage tightened every muscle.

“What difference does it make to you?” Faith jerked free and ran up the steps.

Slate started to go after her, but tripped over one of Jenna’s stupid lawn ornaments, cracking his knee on the edge of the cement porch step.

“Damn it!” Pain shot down his leg as he got to his feet and hobbled up the steps just in time to catch the screen door but not the solid wood one. It slammed in his face, followed by the click of the lock—more than likely the first time it had ever been used.

“Open this door, Faith!” He jiggled the knob. “I mean it. I’m not through talking with you!”

Unfortunately, it looked like she was through talking with him. Which pissed him off even more. What kind of game was she playing, anyway? Obviously, a game where he had no idea what the rules were. A crazy game that involved twisting his emotions into a knot, then refusing to explain herself. Well, he was through with her. Completely and utterly through.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk with you anyway.” He limped down the steps, then turned
and pointed at the house. “You’re crazy, you know that? Crazy! And thank God I found it out before we moved in together. At least now I won’t be stuck with some schizophrenic woman who can’t make up her mind on who she is or whether she wants to go or stay. In fact, let me help you out with that one.” He waved a hand. “Go! Get out of here and go on back to Chicago! Along with all the other crazies!”

The lock clicked, and the door was jerked back open.

He hated the sense of relief he felt.

“Crazies?” she yelled through the screen. “Well, I have news for you, Slate Calhoun! Bramble is the craziest town I’ve ever been in! And you belong right in the middle of it—because you’re the king of crazy!” She jerked open the screen door and stepped out on the porch, the hat and braids now pushed back on her head to reveal a set of highlighted bangs. “King Calhoun with his crumpled straw hats and his cocky smiles strutting around town like you’re some kind of god while every man, woman, and child bows down to kiss your feet.” She moved to the edge of the porch and shoved a finger in her chest. “Well, not me. I’m through kissing your feet or anything else for that matter. Because you’re not a god, Slate Calhoun. You’re just a mortal man who hides behind an emotionless smile so nobody can see how terrified you are of making a commitment.”

“A commitment? I wasn’t the one who made the commitment to stay and then ran off with my tail between my legs.”

She marched down the stairs. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“If”—he glanced down at her Ropers—“the boot fits.”

“Really?” She glared at him. “And what would you call your behavior? Brave? You didn’t even have enough guts to come back and talk to me after you’d spent the night up at Sutter Springs with my sister.”

He leaned down so their noses touched. “Since we ran out of gas and didn’t get back until after three, I figured you’d be asleep.”

“Well, you figured wrong.” She pushed past him.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” He followed her out to Burl’s old pickup.

“To Bootlegger’s to drink enough nasty shots to forget I ever met you.”

Slate snorted, mostly because it was hard to talk when just the thought of Faith doing nasty shots with anyone but him made him want to beat something. Preferably the guy she would be doing nasty shots with—or the guy who’d given her the black eyes.

If Slate knew what was good for him, he would hotfoot it back to Bubba’s and spend the rest of the night with his nose in a Mexican vacation brochure. Or better yet, he should hop in his truck and drive to Mexico right then. To hell with his job and the crazy people of Bramble. And to hell with the little bit of sass that glared back at him as she started the engine of the old Ford.

And that’s exactly what he would’ve done if his body had listened to his logical mind.

Instead he grabbed on to the door handle. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain why you came back and what you’re doing in that getup.”

“You figure it out.” She backed out, barely missing the toes of his boots with the front tire.

If he had gotten more than ten hours of total sleep that
week—and if she hadn’t tried to make a fool of him with her stupid little charade—and if his every nerve ending didn’t tingle with the need to touch her—he might’ve let her go. But her hateful words coupled with the bird she flipped him on the way out of the drive were the final straws that broke the mild-mannered cowboy’s back.

Slate Calhoun was really pissed now.

It took him longer than he thought to catch up with her. The woman drove like an Indy racecar driver, barely braking for corners and paying little or no attention to traffic signals. She blew through the stoplight at Elm and Main without a backward glance, which caused Slate to cuss a blue streak.

By the time he reached Boot’s, Faith had already parked in his parking space by the front door. He jumped the curb and came to a stop behind the pickup, unconcerned that the ass end of his Yukon blocked the driveway.

He hopped out just as she did. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Parking.” She slammed the door of the old truck with enough force to cause the rusty frame to sway.

“I don’t give a shit about parking. I’m talking about the way you were driving. You could’ve killed someone.”

“Really?” She smiled sweetly and tugged her hat down over her forehead before straightening those stupid-looking braids. “I guess I had a good teacher.” She turned just as Kenny and Twyla stepped out the door.

“Hey, Slate.” Kenny’s grin got even bigger when he noticed Faith. “How you doin’, Hope? You ready for the big day?” They both glared back at him, but he paid little attention. “We wanted to throw Slate here a bachelor’s party tomorrow night, but he wouldn’t have none of it.”
He winked at Faith. “Said he wanted to save up his energy for the weddin’ night.”

Twyla giggled. “You better wear your ridin’ boots next week, honey.”

Faith turned to him with a look of disbelief. “You still haven’t told them.”

She was right. He should’ve explained things as soon as she’d left town—probably sooner—instead of burying his head in a playbook. But he’d jump headfirst off the water tower before he agreed with her. “What difference does it make? You’re not the bride.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re damned right I’m not!” She pushed Kenny out of the way, jerked open the door, and stomped inside.

“The weddin’s off?” Twyla looked crestfallen.

“Of course it’s not off,” Kenny said, although his grin didn’t look quite as bright. “They just had a fight, is all. They’ll be right as rain as soon as Slate apologizes for givin’ Hope those two black eyes.”

Slate growled and shoved past them.

“Now, Slate.” Kenny followed behind him. “I think you need to cool off. Once is a mistake, twice is… well, I don’t know what it is, but I can’t let you hit her again.”

Slate ignored him and headed for the bar, where Faith was already seated on a stool between Tyler and Rye. But one look at his face moved them quickly enough.

“Give me a nasty shot,” she yelled at Manny, presenting her back to him.

Slate grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Don’t give her a damned thing. She won’t be staying long enough to drink it.”

“The hell I won’t—” But her words ended on a squeak when he jerked her up in his arms.

“Put me down!”

“No.” He started for the door, then changed his mind. If she figured out some way to get away from him, he’d have a lot harder time catching her outside than he would in a small closed-in room. He turned toward the bathrooms.

Unfortunately, the town had finally become aware of their arrival and started to circle like buzzards to a fresh kill. But this time, he wasn’t concerned with the town or his image. All he cared about was getting answers. Answers that would somehow fill the empty void that football and Mexico and all his friends had been unable to fill once Faith had left.

“Hey, Slate, you’re supposed to carry Hope over the threshold, not the dance floor,” Rachel Dean teased.

“Yeah, Coach. And that’s after the weddin’,” Rye yelled.

His jaw tightened as he maneuvered her through the crowd.

“Put me down,” Faith hissed through her teeth.

“You want down?” He kicked open the door of the men’s bathroom and dropped her like a hot potato. Ignoring the pounding of her fists on his back, he slammed the door closed and slid the lock home.

“Let me out of here!” She screamed loud enough to win a pig-calling trophy of her own.

Slate turned and then grabbed both of her wrists before she could land any more punches. “Not until I get the truth.”

“Funny.” She glared up at him. “But that’s what I came back for.”

His brows lowered. “And you thought you’d get it by dressing up in an ugly wig?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Those big blue eyes filled with tears before she blinked them away. “You hate me and never want to see me again.”

“What did you expect me to say after you ran off without a word?” His voice reverberated in the small room. “Did you expect me to proclaim my undying love for a woman who didn’t even have enough guts to stick around? A woman who tricked me into believing she was one woman who cared enough to stay?”

“And why would I want to stay, Slate Calhoun, when right after you asked me to move in with you, you raced off to Sutter Springs with my sister and never came back?”

“I came back, but you weren’t there!”

“Yeah, you came back!” She leaned up until the brim of her hat touched his forehead. “The next day.”

He stared into the angry blue of her eyes. Eyes he had missed more than he ever thought possible. Like the deep blue of Mexican waters, they beckoned him, offering peace and tranquility to a ravaged soul. Except he didn’t feel so peaceful at the moment. Just angry and hurt. Mostly hurt. Hurt at the thought of her leaving and taking those tranquil blue eyes away from him forever.

“And you couldn’t trust me for one night, Faith?” His thumbs brushed over the insides of her wrists before he released her. “That’s all I wanted. One night of trust.”

She blinked, and her lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came out.

The air left his lungs, and he couldn’t seem to get it back. He felt like he had after running the track with
Austin, completely drained and fighting for breath. He looked at her one last time before he turned to the door and struggled to push back the latch.

“You were right. You don’t belong here.” His chest felt like it was caving in from lack of oxygen. “And it’s a good thing we figured it out before it was too late.”

S
TUNNED, FAITH WATCHED AS SLATE DISAPPEARED INTO
the crowd that had gathered outside the opened bathroom door. Shirlene’s plan had backfired. Instead of Slate telling her he loved her, he was leaving. And there didn’t seem to be anything to do about it. Not when he was right. Faith Aldridge belonged in Bramble about as much as Bubba and his truck belonged in Chicago.