Sharp Shootin' Cowboy (26 page)

He had a lot of time to strategize with an eleven-hour drive ahead of him. But two hours out of Denver had him yearning for the good old days when he could have done it in about eight—the days before they'd reinstated a speed limit on Montana highways. At least the weather had cleared, and he'd left late enough to have missed the outbound commuter traffic.

As for Allie, he supposed the rift was no great loss. Although he wouldn't be getting any for a while after this fiasco, he'd survived lengthy dry spells before—even during his marriage. Given Allie's recent change in attitude, it wouldn't hurt to put some distance between them anyway. He'd never been a player, but maybe it was time to seek out greener grazing.

His mind wandered back to the girl at the airport. He still marveled at the impulse that had spurred him to give up his seat. He wondered what might have happened had he been stranded in Denver with her. Maybe he would have offered her dinner. Maybe she would have accepted. And maybe they would have shared a room at the airport Hilton. He then shrugged it off as another lost opportunity, a sorry addition to all the rest.

Wade plugged his iPod into the audio jack of the rental car and scrolled impatiently through various playlists in search of something to help the two cans of Red Bull keep his eyes open for the all-night driving marathon. He settled on the blaring sounds of Big and Rich.

I'm a dynamite, daddy, I'll put the rhythm in your blues, I'm not a wishy-washy boy like you're used to…

Yeah. That was the ticket. Part country, part urban madness. Much like him.

Grinning, he punched the accelerator of the Dodge Avenger. And like any good cowboy, Wade drove off into the sunset.

It was after eleven when Nikki landed in Bozeman. Expecting to arrive hours earlier, she'd reserved a rental car, but after collecting her bags and proceeding to the Thrifty counter, she found it dark and abandoned. She glanced down the row of rental car desks in mounting frustration. All of them were closed.
Damn
it
all! What now?

The bank of hotel courtesy phones caught her eye next. That was it. She'd just call a hotel with an airport shuttle and get the car in the morning. She was dead tired and in no shape to drive almost a hundred miles in total darkness on unfamiliar roads anyway. It would be smarter to pick up her car early in the morning and then depart for Sheridan. She could live with a few hours delay. At least she wasn't stuck in Denver.

Satisfied with this plan, she picked up the phone, reserved a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Bozeman, and settled on the bench at the shuttle pickup. Up until now she hadn't thought through many of the details and the flight delays had screwed everything up even worse. Now she had to put her mind to reordering her priorities.

The mortuary had already held his body for an entire week before anyone had tracked her down. She wondered if he would have wanted cremation or a burial. She didn't even know him well enough to say. Did he have any friends who mourned him? No one aside from the mortuary had even tried to contact her. Had he left a will? She didn't know that either. She supposed she'd have to contact the attorney's office to find out. She rolled her eyes at the prospect of dealing with blood-sucking lawyers.

First
things
first, Nikki. Get some sleep. Get to Sheridan. Sign whatever you have to. See him properly buried. Then, get the hell out of Montana
. It seemed like a solid plan.

Nikki was the sole passenger when the shuttle pulled up in front of a brightly lit entrance to the hotel lobby. With an exhausted groan, she dragged her bags inside and up to the front desk. Surely a hot shower and a clean bed would make everything right again.

“Hi, I'm Nicole Powell.” She greeted the night clerk with a weary smile. “I called a few minutes ago from the airport.”

“Welcome to the Holiday Inn Express, Miss Powell,” he replied. “I'll be happy to check you in. All I need is a credit card.”

“No problem.” Nikki plopped her purse on the counter and fished inside, but her blindly groping fingers failed to encounter anything approximating calfskin. “I'm sorry. I can't seem to find my wallet. Just another minute, OK? It's a new bag.” She fully opened the mouth of the leather abyss and reached inside again, only to come up short for a second time.

With rising panic, Nikki dumped her entire bag on the counter.

Two sets of keys, miscellaneous makeup items, a cell phone, address book, Tampax, and her checkbook—many of the same things she'd collected when they'd spilled out under the seat of the airplane.
But
no
wallet
.

She shook the bag upside down in disbelief.
Oh
shit!
She'd lost her damned wallet on the plane! With a flushed face and shaking hands, she began cramming everything back into her purse. “I'm sorry. I seem to have lost my wallet. Will you take a check?”

“Certainly. I just need a driver's license and credit card.”

“But I don't have them. My license and credit cards were in my wallet.”

The clerk shook his head with an impassive expression. “I'm sorry, Miss Powell. We can't accept a personal check without proper identification.”

“But I need a room. Surely there's
something
we can work out.”

“Is there someone you can call? A friend or family member?”

Nikki stared at him, scrambling to make sense of this situation. She was stranded at a motel in Bozeman, Montana, without a room, money, or identification. Worse, there wasn't a soul she could think of to help her in the middle of the night. Her mother was out of the question. She couldn't even remember the last time they'd spoken. Since her grandparents died, her sister Shelby was the only family member she'd maintained any contact with, but Shelby was a total screwup. There was no one.

“No.” Nikki shook her head.

“Do you have any business associates, perhaps?”

“Look, I only have two numbers, the Sheridan mortuary and a law office. Do you really think either one is going to answer the phone at this time of night?”

His smile thinned. “I'm sorry, but we can't accommodate you without payment. This is a hotel. We are in business to sell rooms.”

Overcome with a growing sense of helplessness, Nikki turned away to dig desperately inside her purse for her cell phone. Not putting much stock in the mortuary, she decided to try the lawyer. Finding the number, she punched it on a whispered prayer.

* * *

Wade's lids were drooping, and his vision blurring when the sound of his tires bumping the road reflectors jarred him fully alert. He swore aloud and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. Where the hell was he anyway? Wyoming
?
Yeah, now he remembered. He'd just passed through Casper—the halfway point. The caffeine had already worn off and he still had a good five hours to go.

By now he was cursing both Hot Ass for provoking his stupid act of chivalry and his Momma for raising him to be a gentleman. Would he have given up his seat if the girl had been old or ugly? Yeah, on the first account anyway. His grandma would roll over in her grave if he'd let some elderly woman get stranded. But ugly was a matter for debate. Attractive women made fools of men.

The vibration of his phone suddenly jolted him. He jerked it out of his holster, noting the unfamiliar area code with a scowl. Who the devil outside his family, or maybe Allie, would be calling him at this ungodly hour?

“Wade here,” he growled, half expecting a wrong number.

“Excuse me?” a female voice responded. “I was trying to reach Evans and Knowlton Law Firm.”

“This is Wade Knowlton of Evans and Knowlton.”

“Thank God!” she answered with a near-sob.

“Look, ma'am, this is my private line and it's after midnight. I suggest you call me back tomorrow during normal business hours.” He paused. “How did you even get this number anyway?”

“Your office had a recording to call this number in the event of an emergency. This
is
an urgent matter.”

“It had better be life or death,” he warned. His response was ill-tempered and lacked his normal courtesy, but he was dog tired.

“It is.” She paused. “Well, death anyway.”

“All right, you've got my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?”

“I have an emergency.”

“I thought we'd already established that, Miss—”

“I'm so sorry—I thought I said. This is Nicole Powell.”

“Powell? Sorry. Doesn't ring any bells.”

“My father is…was…Raymond Powell. He just passed away. You were recommended by the Sheridan mortuary.”

The first rays of understanding in this bizarre conversation had begun to dawn. “Ah. Then you wish me to handle the probate.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Then I once more suggest that you call back in the morning. There's nothing I can do for you right now.”

“But there is—”

Given his fatigue and foul mood, Wade made no attempt to restrain his sarcasm. “You have my sincere condolences for your loss, Miss Powell, but I fail to see how this is an emergency…given that he's already dead.”

“But it's not him. It's me that needs your help, Mr. Knowlton. I've just arrived in Montana and I've lost my wallet. I have no money. No ID. No room for the night. I'm so sorry to burden you, but aside from the mortuary, your office was the only number I had. I just found it on a scrap of paper in my purse. Please, is there anything you can do to help me?”

“I'll do what I can,” he replied, his ill humor somewhat dissipated. “How do you suggest I assist you?”

“I need a short-term loan, maybe a few hundred dollars, until I get my ID and credit cards back.”

“Look, ma'am. While I don't wish to appear hard-hearted, I don't know you from Eve.”

“But surely my father must have left some cash or something of value I could borrow against.”

“I have no clue about your father's state of affairs and am nowhere near my office even to find out. And while I don't wish to make either of our lives more difficult, it isn't as easy as all that anyway. You have to understand there are legal waters to navigate in cases like this.”

“Please.” He detected a quaver in her voice. “I am truly in a bind.”

Her tone of desperation struck a nerve. Remembering the woman in Denver, Wade pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.
Twice
in
one
night? Incredible.

Giving up his airline seat had already cost him time and money, two hundred dollars with the extra fee charged for the one-way car rental. He knew nothing about this woman, yet he was already damn close to offering his own credit card, but there were limits to his generosity to strangers—even female ones. Still, he couldn't refuse her request for help.

“Where are you, Miz Powell?”

“In the lobby of the Holiday Inn Express at Bozeman. I couldn't get a room without my credit card. I'm going to have the same problem getting a rental car. I'm stranded here.” He thought he heard a muffled sniff.
Aw
hell.
The tears were about to fall. The last thing he needed was to deal with a hysterical woman on no sleep.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“To Sheridan.”

“Then it's your lucky night, darlin'. I'm going to Virginia City and Sheridan isn't too far out of the way. I'm on my way to Bozeman right now to pick up my vehicle as I've been out of town on business. I'm still several hours away, but if you can hang on for a while, I'll pick you up.”

“Really? Thank you so much. I truly appreciate your help, Mr. Knowlton.”

“Don't worry 'bout a thing, Miz Powell,” he offered in the most soothing tone he could muster. “It's been a rough night for both of us, but everything looks brighter in the light of day.”

“I never could have imagined getting into a situation like this. It's a horrible feeling.”

“I think in a few hours you'll see that your situation isn't near as dire as you thought.”

“Why's that?”

“I'll be there to treat you to a Starbucks by six.”

Order Victoria Vane's first book
in the Hot Cowboy Nights series

Slow Hand

On sale now

Watch for the next book in Victoria Vane's Hot Cowboy Nights series

A COWBOY'S WHISPER

Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca

I am ever grateful to my loving husband of thirty-plus years for supporting my writing career during many ups and downs. I also wish to express my appreciation to my critique partner, Violetta Rand, for helping me through some rough spots, and to my wonderful friends Jill, Ivy, and Annette, for taking the time to give this an early read and for sharing their invaluable feedback. I would like to acknowledge all of the wonderful people at Sourcebooks who helped to bring this story to life, especially my editor, Deb Werksman, for her continued faith in me. Last but certainly not least, I wish to thank Dawn Adams and photographer Claudio Marinesco for my incredible book covers.