Cowboy Conspiracy. Joanna Wayne

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СКАЧАТЬ was a cowboy in his soul.

      “Where are you moving from?” Edie asked.

      “East of here.”

      You couldn’t get much more evasive that than, Wyatt thought. His cop instincts checked in and he wondered if she might be on the run—from the police or perhaps an unwanted lover.

      “We’re getting a cat,” the little girl said.

      “That will be nice,” Edie said. “I had a cat when I was young. I named it Princess.”

      “I’m naming mine Belle. That’s a princess name.”

      “It is. I like that.”

      “My name is Jaci.”

      “I like that, too. Now I better get back to my grill before I burn the ham.”

      The thunder was now a constant growl in the background and the pounding on the metal roof sounded like hailstones. The lights blinked again as Edie pulled sliced tomatoes, lettuce leaves and jalapeños from a small built-in refrigerator beneath the counter.

      Wyatt shifted on the stool so that he had a better view of the woman at the front table without staring obviously. His mind automatically sized her up the way he would a suspect. The hair was strawberry blond, clean and shiny. It was cut short and in wavy layers that flipped about her chin. She had a cute nose that turned up ever so slightly on the end.

      Nice breasts. Slender hips—he’d noticed those when she was pumping gas. Full lips. Great smile—when she smiled.

      Okay, so maybe he was noticing her more like a woman than a suspect. She did intrigue him, maybe because she was showing absolutely no interest in him.

      She looked up, saw him watching her and shot him that same back-off stare she had aimed at him outside.

      Once Edie put his sandwich in front of him, his concentration turned to the food. When he did look up, he caught the guy at the other end of the bar eyeing Jaci’s mother. Wyatt couldn’t fault him for noticing an attractive woman. He’d done the same.

      But the way this guy was looking at her bothered Wyatt. He could see why the waitress felt uncomfortable around him.

      Wyatt felt that copper’s itch to find some reason to ask for the man’s ID. He’d like to check him out and see if he had a record or an outstanding warrant for his arrest.

      A few minutes later, the guy paid his tab, stood and swaggered toward the door. He stopped near the woman at the table and rested his right hand on his groin area, leering until the woman looked up. She glanced away quickly.

      Wyatt’s muscles clenched. Badge or not, he wasn’t going to let the slimy weasel intimidate a woman while he was here to stop it.

      But then the guy turned and strode out of the café and into the full fury of the storm.

      By the time Wyatt had finished his sandwich and a second cup of coffee, the steady pelting against the roof had finally slacked off. The woman and kid were already pulling on their jackets. They left as Wyatt paid his tab.

      He’d just shrugged into his own jacket when he heard the piercing wail. Adrenaline rushed his veins. He shoved his way out the door, his instincts already kicking in and ready for whatever he might find.

      Anything except this.

      Chapter Three

      The woman from the diner had shoved a motorbike to the pavement and was kicking the frame like she was attacking a hungry grizzly. Had it been a grizzly, the bear would likely be losing the battle.

      “What’s the problem?” he asked.

      Her hands flew to her hips. “That hooligan stole my car.”

      Wyatt looked around. True enough, there was no sign of the Honda she’d been driving earlier.

      “Don’t just stand there,” she demanded. “Do something.”

      “Looks like you have the bike subdued,” he quipped.

      “Not help with the bike. My purse is in that car. All my money’s in it. He has my computer. A box of Jaci’s favorite toys.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “And half of our clothes!” She slammed the heel of her stylish boot into the bike’s frame again.

      The hooligan in question had a good half hour head start. With no idea which direction he’d gone in, chances were slim Wyatt could chase him down in his pickup truck.

      “What in holy tarnation are you doing to my bike?” This time it was the waitress’s shrill voice that cut through the damp air.

      The woman threw up her hands. “Your bike? I thought it belonged to the man who stole my car.”

      “That creep who was in the café stole your car?”

      “Apparently.”

      “I knew he was up to no good the second he walked in. I figured he was just hanging around waiting for the power to go off so he could clean out the register.”

      Wyatt made the 911 call while the women righted the downed bike and the attacker apologized profusely for the damage her boot had inflicted.

      The kid ran over to Wyatt. “Call the police and the game warden,” she squealed. “That man stole my toys and my books.”

      Three near-hysterical females was downright scary. The light rain that was still falling did nothing to settle them down. At least the kid had sense enough to move to the cover of the aluminum canopy over the door after she put in her order for cops.

      “Ladies,” Wyatt announced when he’d finished the call. “A deputy is on the way. Let’s go back inside and calm down.”

      “Easy for you to say,” the woman snapped. “You have your truck.”

      No doubt because the thief didn’t realize Wyatt had a couple of loaded pistols inside. Wyatt stopped at the Corvette parked in the lot as the three women marched inside.

      If the guy hadn’t been riding the motorbike, he must have been driving this. Ten to one it was stolen, as well. But there was nothing he could do about it until a deputy showed up.

      Back in Atlanta, he’d have made a few calls and had local cops and the state police already on the lookout for the stolen Honda. He’d have run a license-plate check on the Corvette. He’d have assumed control instead of waiting for a deputy.

      Already he missed his life.

      KELLY TOOK A DEEP BREATH and struggled to think rationally. Instead, she plunged into the frightening abyss of “what ifs” What if the creep had been the one pumping gas when she was? What if he’d knocked her to the pavement and stolen the car with Jaci inside it? What if she’d walked out while he was hot-wiring the ignition and he’d shot Jaci or her or both of them?

      When she looked at it that way, the loss of her car and her belongings didn’t seem nearly so horrific. But still, she was fed up with being criminals’ СКАЧАТЬ