Chapter 5

Davy Stikeleather watched the truck pull into the parking lot. The cowboy driving might be big and rich, but he wasn’t near as smart as Davy because he never knew that Davy had been watching him and Rusty all day, or that he’d followed them from Blackhawk Ranch to the Grille.

The big man, Russell, got out and walked around the truck to open the door for Rusty. He even took Rusty’s hand as she stepped down from the truck. Davy snorted. That man didn’t know shit from shinola. Rusty Blackhawk was a nice piece of ass, but she was about as far from a lady as a woman could get.

Danny, Davy’s older brother and Rusty’s husband, had told Davy and all the men in the family about what a wildcat Rusty was. And what a tramp. According to Davy, the only reason Blackhawk Ranch stayed in business as long as it had was that Rusty fucked her way to whatever she wanted.

Now that Danny was dead, the family knew the best thing for her was to marry up with another of the brothers and let the family step in and run the ranch. But the bitch had laughed in their faces when they suggested she marry Dennis. Secretly, Davy was glad. Dennis was a moron. Sure, he was big as a house and strong as an ox, but he had a brain the size of a peanut.

Davy, on the other hand, had more smarts than his whole family put together. And he had been the one to come up with the plan to burn Rusty out. If the idiot Dennis had set the fire the way Davy instructed the house would have burned to the ground. But it had worked well enough despite Dennis. It wouldn’t take long for the insurance company to send someone to tell her that her insurance had lapsed long ago.

That was Davy’s brainchild as well. He’d made sure to check Rusty’s mail every day, and each time she sent in an insurance payment he took it to a friend who, for a fee, got it cashed and stamped with a fake insurance stamp. Just as he stole every statement from the insurance company demanding payment. He still had the policy cancellation in his dresser drawer at home.

She was going to be in a fix, regardless of that Sassy Arizona cowboy. By the time Davy and his family got through, Clay Russell would want to get as far away from Rusty Blackhawk as possible. Then Rusty would have no choice but to take help from the family. And the next time someone was named as the candidate for her to marry, it was going to be him.

Davy watched Rusty smile up at Russell, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. It was time to round up the family.

“The Lonely Grille?” Clay asked as he offered Rusty his hand when she started to get out of the truck. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope,” she said and smiled. “And according to Melvin, this place is definitely the inspiration for more songs than he can shake a stick at.”

Clay laughed. “Ooookay. Just as long as the beer is cold and the steaks are hot.”

Rusty chuckled and tugged on his hand. “Coldest beer in three counties and the beef is the best in the state.”

Clay’s stomach rumbled as he pulled open the door for Rusty to enter. A chorus of voices rang out with greetings as she walked in, along with quite a few catcalls and whistles.

She grinned and greeted the folks in the bar as she led the way to a booth along one wall. Clay took off his hat as he slid into the booth. Rusty took the seat opposite him and grinned up at the bosomy redhead who approached the table.

“Hey, Deanna,” Rusty said.

“Hey, girl. I was starting to think you’d skipped town it’s been so long. What you been doing?” She cut her eyes flirtatiously at Clay. “Or should I ask?”

“Deanna, this is Clay Russell of the Circle R in Arizona. The Circle R is—”

“Going into partnership with Blackhawk Ranch,” Clay cut in. “And I’m the lucky cowboy representing the Circle R in the partnership. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Deanna was just staring gape-mouthed at Clay who was smiling at her in a completely sexual manner. Rusty wanted to kick him under the table. Even she could smell Deanna heating up.

“My pleasure, Mr. Russell,” Deanna said and extended her hand to him. “Deanna Jones at your service.”

Clay took her hand, and brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Darlin’, do you think you could rustle a hungry hand up a rare steak and a cold beer?”

Deanna giggled like a schoolgirl. “Without a doubt, Mr. Russell.”

“My friends call me Clay,” he said in such a charming tone that Rusty gritted her teeth.

“Well then, Clay, I’m gonna get ya’ll two tall cold ones and tell the cook to throw a two-inch steak on the griddle. You want fries or baked potato?”

“Baked, please.”

“And what kind of dressing on your salad?”

“Keep the salad,” Clay replied.

Deanna finally turned her attention to Rusty. “What you want, hon?”

“Sweet potato, salad, corn on the cob, green beans, some okra if you have it, squash, a side of coleslaw and a side of potato salad. Oh, and two wedges of cornbread if you have it.”

Deanna cut her eyes at Clay. “Eats like a horse and never gains an ounce. Beats the Dickens out of me how she does it. Everything I eat goes straight to my hips.”

“Well god bless good eating,” Clay said flirtatiously.

Deanna blushed. “I’ll get this order in right now and be back in a flash with those beers.”

Rusty leaned back against the booth and regarded Clay with narrowed eyes as Deanna gave him a sassy smile and walked away, swaying her ass in an obviously exaggerated manner.

Clay watched the waitress walk away then turned his attention to Rusty. “Nice gal. You know her long?”

“All my life,” Rusty answered shortly, eliciting a sly smile from Clay.

“You got a burr up your butt about something, Sassy?”

Rusty looked away as she answered. “Nope.” It gnawed at her that the flirtation between Clay and Deanna rankled. How could she be jealous of a man she hardly knew?

Deanna returned with their beers. Clay raised his glass toward Rusty. “To my new partner.”

Rusty raised her glass to and clinked it against his. Their eyes met and held, and for the first time in years, her second sight came fully alive. She saw within Clay all of the secret dreams, aspirations and desires he’d kept bottled and hidden. She saw the insecurity he masked with a party-boy persona. She saw the frustration he was trying to suppress at the attraction he felt for her, and the fear that maybe she wasn’t just another woman he could bed and walk away from. That he’d nearly gone crazy watching her work all day, wanting to touch her but holding fast to his manners and trying not to let the attraction rule.

She saw his past. His brothers Cole and Caleb and Chase. His father Charlie, and Clara, the woman who had become a mother to him when his own died. She saw Ana, and the special place she’d come to occupy in Clay’s heart. And she saw the certainty he felt that he would never find a woman who would own his heart the way Ana owned Chase’s.

She saw his desire to become one of the top bull riders in the PBR, to prove himself despite his father’s disapproval. She saw his uncertainty that he could make Blackhawk a success and prove to his family that he was capable.

And she saw a heart capable of so much love and compassion that it shattered her defenses completely and allowed what she’d so feared to possess her. Clay Russell was the one. The man she wanted to walk time with.

It rattled her so much that her arm shook and her glass clattered against his, slopping beer all over the table.

Clay saw Rusty’s violet eyes turn the dark purple of an Arizona sunset, and the vacant expression that captured her face. A moment later she started to shake. Their glasses rattled together hard enough to cause beer to splatter the table.

He didn’t think. He just acted. He slammed his glass on the table in the same move as he rose and skirted the booth to slide in beside her. She was still holding her beer glass, with that wide-eyed vacant expression on her face.

Clay removed the glass from her hand and turned her to face him. “Hey now, Sassy, you okay?”

Rusty didn’t react and that scared Clay. Something was wrong. A person didn’t just zone out of reality for no reason. He had to do something to snap her back. But what?

Several possibilities flitted through his mind. Shaking her, slapping her, yelling for an ambulance. But he reacted in a purely male and instinctual way. He pulled her to him and kissed her.

Rusty was barely aware of what was happening. She was still locked within the “knowing place”. Not until Clay pulled her close to him and his lips covered hers did she come back. And for Rusty it was like finally coming home. Despite the fact that they had never touched, she knew the feel of him against her. Knew the tickle of his beard and mustache against her face, the taste of his breath on her face and the soft fullness of his lips against hers.

She never considered whether it was wise or right, she simply responded. Her arms went up to circle his neck. “Az én-m szeretett,” she whispered before her lips parted against his.

Clay didn’t understand the words she whispered, but it sent something rocketing through him that was as sizzling as a live wire and as solid as a mountain. It was something that touched the protected place in his heart that he kept locked away from the world.

Her lips parted against his. It was an invitation he could not refuse. Her taste was intoxicating, the feel of her against him, electric. Without hesitation he took what she offered, plundering her mouth like a starved man who is offered a feast.

What he didn’t count on or consider was the effect it would have on either of them. Rusty groaned and pressed against him, returning the kiss with as much passion and aggression as it was given.

Clay throbbed uncomfortably to full erection in his jeans, straining at the denim that constrained him. His hands tightened on Rusty, pulled her closer even though she was already plastered up against him.

“Well, I mighta figur’d.” The sound of a male voice beside the booth had both of them pulling away from one another.

Rusty looked around Clay to see her ex-father-in-law, Davis Stikeleather, leering down at her.

“Girl, I done told you I ain’t puttin’ up with your whorin’!” Davis tried to reach around Clay to grab hold of Rusty.

Rusty raised her fist to belt him but before she could act Clay was on his feet with one big hand wrapped around Davis’ scrawny neck, lifting him up off the floor. The bar was as silent as a tomb as Clay jerked Davis up close to his face and spoke in a deadly calm voice.

“I don’t know who you are, and don’t care, but let me set you straight on something, mister. No one talks to Miss Blackhawk like that in my presence. Now why don’t you find your manners and apologize to the lady.”

Davis wheezed out a laugh, trying to break Clay’s grip with both hands, but having no luck. “Damn whore is what she is.”

Clay literally growled a moment before he cocked his arm then catapulted Davis. People at the table nearest them were treated to a dose of Davis hitting their table on his skinny butt and sliding clean off the table to land in a heap on the floor.

About the time Davis hit the floor, two men rushed at Clay, Davis’ sons Dennis and Donny. Rusty came out of the booth as Dennis neared Clay and delivered a solid roundhouse. His head snapped back even as his body tried to continue forward.

“You fucking cunt!” Donny yelled and fought to get around Dennis who was floundering around trying to get steady on his feet.

Clay whirled around, kicked Dennis, who was beginning to recover his balance, in the gut, sending him slamming into Donny and the both of them crashed to the floor.

Both men were cursing and yelling, fighting with one another to get to their feet. By that time, Davis was hanging onto a table, trying to get his legs to support him. Melvin, the owner of the grille, was yelling to his son Jarrod who was already in motion toward the ruckus.

Clay stuck out his foot and pushed Dennis back down on top of Donny as Dennis tried to rise. Jarrod barreled in with a baseball bat gripped in one ham-hock-sized hand. “Break it up!” he bellowed.

Rusty jumped in front of Jarrod. “They started it, J. Davis came in mouthing off and—”

“Damn straight,” a man at a nearby table spoke up, earning a loud expletive from Davis. “Davis and his boys started it.”

A chorus of voices chimed in, adding weight to the man’s claim. Clay turned to look at Rusty. It was clear that no one in the bar was going to let her take the heat. It was just as clear that the man called Davis and the men with him were not well liked.

Jarrod looked down at Rusty. “He hurt you, Russ?”

She put her hand on the big man’s arm. “No. I’m fine J. But it sure would be nice to be able to eat in peace without this trash stinking up the place.”

“You got it,” Jarrod said with a grin. He turned, gave Dennis a thump on the head with the bat. “Get your old man and get outta here, boys. Lessen you want me to call the law.”

Dennis was as mad as a wet-setting hen. That was plain from his red face and the veins standing out on his neck. But he backed down. “Come on,” he said to his father and then shoved at his brother behind him.

“You ain’t heared the last of this, bitch!” Davis spat at Rusty as he hobbled over to his boys.

“Yeah, whatever,” Rusty replied and turned to slide back into the booth.

Clay waited until the men had been escorted outside by the giant with the ball bat, and then reclaimed his seat. “Things always so exciting when you’re around, Miss Blackhawk?”

Rusty grimaced and reached for her beer. Clay reached over and stayed her hand. “What’s the deal with those yahoos?”

“Long story,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. Now that the ruckus had past, her mind was revisiting the vision she’d had, and the kiss. God, what a kiss.

“I got time,” Clay’s voice cut into her thoughts.

Rusty cut her eyes at him. “Ana didn’t tell you?”

“Hell, Ana didn’t even tell me you were a woman.”

Rusty chuckled despite herself. “Yeah well, that was pretty funny.”

Clay grinned and took a drink of his beer. “Guess so. But no changing the subject. What’s the story?”

Rusty sighed and propped her elbows and forearms on the table between them. “Short version. I made a mistake. Got drunk, got pregnant, and married Danny Stikeleather, Davis’ son. Danny turned out to be a drunk. When I was three months along, he got mad because I told him to get out, that I didn’t need a no-good drunk to take care of. We were outside, by the barn. I turned my back on him and he grabbed a shovel and clocked me. I don’t remember much of what happened after that except a lot of pain. I woke up in a hospital, beat all to hell and no longer pregnant. That same night Danny got rip-roaring drunk and drove his truck down the side of Sweetwater gully and was killed.”

She paused, took a sip of beer and looked at Clay. “That’s when his family tried to move in on me. Davis decided I needed to marry one of his other sons. I told him to go to hell and ever since we’ve been at war.”

Clay felt almost sick to his stomach. Rusty had told the story in a flat, emotionless tone, but he’d seen the look in her eyes. That son-of-a-bitch had nearly killed her and she’d had no one to turn to when those vultures descended on her.

But that wasn’t the case now. Now Clay was in the picture and his mind was made up that it would be one bitter cold day in hell before he’d let any of the Stikeleathers hurt her again.

“Had your share of trouble, haven’t you?” he asked gently.

Rusty gave him a rueful smile. “Well, you know how the old saying goes. Into each life a little rain must fall.”

Clay returned the smile and reached out to put his hand over hers on the table. “The rainy days are over.”

“That right, Mr. Russell?” she asked.

“That’s a promise, Miss Blackhawk,” he said and gave her hand a squeeze. Rusty tried not to let hope swell that the promise meant anything. She tried to shove the memory of the kiss into the back of her mind, to not recall the near overwhelming feelings it invoked. To shield herself she fell back on tried and true tactics. She kept it light and teasing.

“Well, I won’t hold it against you if you’re wrong.”

“Does that mean you’ll hold it against me if I’m right?”

Rusty smiled at the sexy tease in his voice. “You’re a bad one, Mr. Russell.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Sassy.”

At that moment Deanna arrived with their meals. She set Clay’s plate down in front of him, then placed two platters down in front of Rusty. Clay looked from his plate to the mountains of vegetables on the platters in front of her. “Good god, woman, who do you think you’re feeding? She isn’t as big as a minute. No way in hell she’ll make a dent in that.”

Deanna laughed, and even though it brought a flush to her face, so did Rusty. Deanna patted Clay on the shoulder. “It’s clear you don’t know our Rusty. You need anything just yell.”

Clay’s eyes moved from Deanna to the mountain of food and then to Rusty. “You eat half of that and I’ll run around the barn naked singing the national anthem.”

“Make that Beer for my Horses and you’re on,” she said with a grin.

“Deal,” he said and stuck out his hand.

Rusty accepted his hand. “Looks like I’m gonna get a show with dinner tonight. Dig in, cowboy.”

Clay shook his head and picked up her fork for her. “Ladies first.”

Rusty grinned, took the fork and dug in.