Lonesome Lawmen Mini Bundle

Three-1

Three

The bar emptied soon after the last set ended, a whining Earl nudged out by the barkeep. Bryn homed in on Jesse, who finished stowing their equipment and headed for the door to one side of the bar. She plucked him off course with one bat of her lashes, then let him lead her through the door marked for management. This left Jake alone with the barkeep.

Jake leaned companionably on the bar and sipped his soft drink, watching the guy clean up with quick, practiced movements. When the guy moved into range, Jake held out his hand. “The name’s Jake.”

He got a wary look with the reluctant shake. “Chet.”

“Pleased to meet you. Since I’m driving, how about a Coke for the road?”

Chet found one and shoved it toward Jake. “Two dollars.”

“Thanks.” Jake paid and popped the top, taking a drink before asking, “So, is JR in?”

Chet looked up. “JR isn’t in much. You looking for work?”

“You got any?” Music still filtered through Jake’s mind. His fingers tapped the beat on the wooden surface of the bar.

“Phoebe does all the hiring and firing.”

“Really? She’s the guitarist in the band, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How is she to work for?”

“Phoebe’s okay, but the pay isn’t great. JR’s a tight-fisted Texan.” Chet looked morose as he polished the bar.

“What about bands? You book them?”

Chet shook his head. “JR takes care of that. He manages Cattle Call, too. When they tour, usually in the summer, he books in replacements. They’ve stuck close to home this year though.”

Jake nodded, holding back a yawn, as he made a mental note to compare the band’s past tours with Phagan heists. This kind of chat was the lifeblood of an investigation, but it was also boring. “I appreciate the info, man. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Chet found himself a beer. “You want anything else?”

“I’ll just finish my Coke. But how about something for Phoebe? Whatever she usually drinks.”

Chet looked at Jake. “You want to buy Phoebe a drink?”

“It isn’t against the law, is it?”

“You gonna ask her about a job?”

“Maybe.”

“She don’t screw around.”

Jake looked up from his wallet. “I don’t screw around either.”

“If I was you, I’d tell her that right away—” Chet slid a Diet Coke to Jake and took his money.

“Tell me what right away?”

Jake and Chet turned together. Phoebe stood at the end of the bar with her hands on her hips.

“That I bought you a drink.” Jake popped the top on her can and held it out with a friendly smile. “Chet here seems to think that’ll piss you off.”

Jake knew Chet watched them, but he found that the closer Phoebe got, the harder it was to concentrate on anyone else. Her hand closed around the cold can, her fingers meshing with his for a moment. Instead of telling her he wanted a job, he stared into brown eyes that didn’t give much away and said, “I really enjoyed the show.”

She took the can, drank, then rubbed away the moisture that lingered on her mouth. “Thanks.”

“Well, I’m damned.”

She looked at Chet, her eyebrows arched. “I thought you’d been saved by the blood of the Lamb.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, then grinned, gesturing toward the back. “I’ll just go do something—”

“Good idea.”

Chet looked relieved as he left Jake alone with Phoebe in the echoing barn of a room.

Phoebe turned back to Jake, her eyes showing amusement against a background of sad. He wondered if it ever went away. She tilted her head back for another drink, the movement exposing the smooth column of her throat. That drew his eyes down to plunging cleavage framed in lace that the denim jacket she now wore did little to hide.

The air was close, still heated from the recent press of bodies, thick with smoke, and smelled of beer and sweat. He ran a finger around the neckline of his tee shirt and realized she was looking at him with question marks in her eyes.

What did she want to know? Jake narrowed his eyes, probing deep because he had a knack for reading eyes, but before he hit pay dirt, she lowered her lashes and took another drink of her soda. When she looked at him again, there was nothing to see but cool inquiry.

“So, what can I do for you, cowboy?”

“Name’s Jake Kirby.” He thrust out his hand.

“Phoebe Mentel.” Her voice was cool and she kept her hand to herself.

He wiped his on his pants and held it out again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Phoebe.”

With a laugh that shattered the cool of her face and eyes, she relented. His first thought was how right it felt when his fingers closed around hers, his second, that he was on the edge of deep trouble this time.

The sudden widening of her eyes that told him she felt it too only made it worse.

He’d always prided himself on being the heart-whole Kirby brother, the free-spirited marshal tracking down the bad guys, a modern-day Marshal Dillon whose Dodge City was the world. A tracker with few opportunities to stay in one place long enough to meet a Miss Kitty who would cheer him on, let alone wave him off into the next sunset.

Phoebe didn’t look inclined to cheer. Retreat was wisdom but not in his job description, so he indicated a chair sitting askew by a table, mutely inviting her to join him. Phoebe turned and straddled the chair next to the one Jake had pointed at, needing any barrier she could find to put between them. His eyes were wary, which meant he’d gotten the same jolt she did when their hands touched, but his smile was still loaded with enough wattage to take her breath away. She opened her mouth to say—what? The door behind her opened, and Jesse came out, trailing a woman. What a surprise.

“You ready to go, darlin’?” he asked, looking at his companion with a dazed expression that could have been from the beer he’d consumed, the woman or both. To Phoebe’s surprise, it was the woman she’d noticed watching her earlier. Right before she ran into Jake. For some reason this made her uneasy, but a quick scrutiny found no indication that the two knew each other, and the woman looked like a natural to play bimbo to Jesse’s bozo.

Phoebe hesitated, but even if the woman wanted more from Jesse than s*x, she wouldn’t get it from him while he was plastered. “You can go without me. I’ll catch a ride with Chet when he’s—”

“Or I can take you home,” Jake said.

It was crazy. It was dangerous.

It was irresistible.

Phoebe liked games almost as much as Phagan, but this was one she hadn’t played in a long time. It was more dangerous than B&E, but that she shouldn’t be playing it only made it seem more enticing. What kind of opponent would Jake make? Was he worth the risk?

Professionally, Jake needed her to let him take her home. The personal part of him was hoping she’d say no. Her gaze locked with his. Hard as a drill bit, it mined for motive. Jake didn’t flinch, but it wasn’t easy. He was used to giving, rather than receiving, penetrating looks. Just when he was sure she’d bored straight through to his ulterior motive, she smiled.

“I’ll catch a ride with Jake.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jesse approached them with a weaving, uncertain stride, not stopping until he was in front of Jake. He leaned forward, sending a strong wave of sweat-and-beer-drenched air in Jake’s direction. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jake Kirby.” Jake didn’t lean toward or away from the cowboy. He chose his move, his spot to hit, if Jesse turned nasty.

“He’s looking for work. Jake, this is Jesse. You may have noticed him singing and getting plastered up on the stage tonight.”

“Howdy.” Jesse held out his hand, intensity at the back of his blurred eyes.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Phoebe cautioned Jake. “He can chin himself with his pinkies.”

Jake looked puzzled, so she added, “Rock climbing.”

“Done a bit of climbing myself,” Jake said and held out his hand.

Jesse tried to grab it but missed. Phoebe gave him a shove with her booted foot. “Go home and sleep it off, Jesse.”

Jesse tried to grab her but missed again. Bryn moved forward, wearing a pout that looked almost real. “I thought you were taking me home, honey?”

Mert came out the office door and Phoebe turned to him with relief. “Would you drive these two?”

“I was—whoa!” Mert caught sight of Bryn. “Have we met, darlin’?”

“I don’t think I’d forget meeting you,” Bryn said, fluttering her lashes.

Role was the right description, Phoebe thought. Quite the performance, if you didn’t look in her eyes.

Mert offered his arm, shoved his brother out the front door, then turned and said to Jake, “Mind how you go with her, mister. She’s family.”

Jake nodded, no sign of worry in his eyes or manner. Either he didn’t consider the guys a threat or he wasn’t planning to hit on her, Phoebe decided. When the door closed, Phoebe said, “Sorry.”

“I’ve got two brothers,” Jake said. “Both older than me. And dedicated to keeping my ass in line.”

Her smile was slow but potent. “All God’s children need a goal.”

Jake’s laugh came natural, felt good. “Yeah,” he said, “they do.” Then his brain reminded him what his goal was, and he sobered.

Her eyes registered this. Her lashes flickered, turning her expression into bland and pleasant. She stood up with an abrupt movement that tipped over the chair.

“Got a bit of a performance buzz to burn off. Can we go?”

“Sure.” She vibrated with tension, her gaze bouncing around, looking everywhere but at him. He stepped close, and she stepped back, reaching for her can of soda.

With a quick movement, Jake pulled it out of her reach. “You won’t work off a buzz chugging caffeine. Come on, let’s go get some food into you.”

She looked startled, then grinned.

“You might regret the absence of buzz,” she said with a sidelong glance as they headed for the door. “When I crash, I’m out like a light.”

“You think my ego can’t take a girl falling asleep on me?” he said, as he stepped past her to push open the door.

“Don’t know what you can take, now do I?” She stopped for a moment, rendered briefly breathless by the fit of blue jeans across his very nice ass. She gave a little shake and stepped through the doorway, but couldn’t resist murmuring her thanks for the courtesy—and the view.

“What?” Jake looked at her, as if sensing her layered emphasis.

“Nothing.” She grinned. “But you’d best—feed me, Seymour.”

He matched her grin as he opened the truck’s passenger door for her. “Are you dangerous when you’re hungry?”

She paused in the act of sliding across the car seat, leaving her long, bare legs extended for maximum viewing. He inhaled sharply, then looked up. She gave him a provocative look. “There are those who say I’m always dangerous.”

* * * *

Earl watched them from the shadows as they got into the truck, which pulled away and turned toward town. He slid into his SUV, pushing aside his snoring date. In a moment, he took off with a spurt of gravel, turning in the same direction.