Page 12 of Cowboy Dreams

“But matches your face, and your dick. You like that in a car.”

Since it was red, if a tamer red than my Mustang, that was a good comeback. I managed, “The door matches your ass.”

“You liked my ass.”

“Still white as a full moon.”

“My farmer’s tan turns you on.” He settled his hat on his head and waited.

“I might need another look.”

“Gotta ride in my truck to get there.”

“Something brought out the stubborn in you tonight?”

He shifted his weight, like he wasn’t quite as confident as he sounded. “You hold a lot of the cards right now. My truck is my get out of jail free card.”

“Jail?” An odd swoop of dismay passed through my belly. I tried to make a joke. “I only handcuff the men who ask for it.”

He made an indecipherable gesture. “Maybe that was the wrong word.”

“If you feel more secure having your truck there,” I suggested, “why don’t you follow me to the ranch. Follow me home.” I was trying to get in the habit of calling it home. To keep him from feeling rejected, I added truthfully, “I don’t want to leave the Mustang outside a bar all night.”

“I guess. Prob’ly stands out too much for someone to steal and sell around here, but some drunk punk might decide to take a joyride.”

“I take good care of everything that belongs to me.” If I meant the words a bit more personally than it sounded, I’d leave him to figure that out.

“Right. I don’t need to follow you, though. I know where the Circle K is.”

“You mean your truck can’t keep up with my Mustang.”

“Eat my dust.” He swung up into his truck, fired the engine, and headed out before I could react, tires squealing as he turned at the road and floored it.

Oh, game on.I jumped into my car and followed him.

The truck had more horsepower under the hood than I expected, but it couldn’t match my girl. I rode his bumper for a while, not because I couldn’t pass on the sparsely trafficked two-lane roads, but to let him know when I decided to pass him was entirely in my hands. Or so I thought until we got close to the ranch and he suddenly swerved off onto a dirt lane leading through a field.

I braked to a stop and sat there, eyeing his red taillights as they bounced away down the rutted track, the rough ground ahead lit by his lowbeams. He vanished behind some trees, but I saw glints of his lights. He’d been right before. I was not taking the Mustang across country. And I had no idea where that track went, or how much of the curving county road he’d manage to cut off that way.

Of course, his speed would be severely limited. Mine wasn’t. I did the only thing I could do and pulled back onto the road, hitting the gas. Pushed the Mustang to eighty. Then ninety.

Only to have a police cruiser come out from nowhere a minute later, siren wailing.

I gritted my teeth, pulled onto the shoulder, and waited.

The cop car parked behind me. I sat silently, obediently, minute after minute, as its blue lights flickered in my mirrors.What is he waiting for? Reinforcements?I realized, as time went by, how isolated we were. I’d have texted Joe, but I didn’t have his number. I thought about texting a friend, but they were all states away and would just worry. One truck passed going the other direction, slowing only enough for courtesy as it went by. Then we were alone again.

Finally, the cop got out, put on his hat, and strode toward my door with that heavy, macho gait some law enforcement men use. He had his hand close to his holster, and I reminded my inner smartass that this was a county trooper, not some bouncer in a club. I rolled down my window, the knob cool against my sweaty palm.

“Nice car,” the cop drawled as he reached the window. “Guess there’s a lot of horses under the hood, seeing as you were going a hundred miles an hour.”

I’d barely touched ninety, but I wasn’t foolish enough to say so.

“Get on out of the car,” he directed. “Nice and easy, hands where I can see them.”

I obeyed orders, standing in the open door, eyeing him. The cop was shorter than me by maybe six inches, but then most men were. He carried a lot more weight in his belly too, but his arms looked beefy in his uniform sleeves, like he worked out. I couldn’t see much of his face in the shadow under his hat.

“Walk around front to the other side of the car,” he ordered. “No need for us to get hit by a semi. Then turn and put your hands on the roof, legs spread.”

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