The Last Wilder Read online

  Try as he might, he could think of no legitimate reason for anyone, much less a young woman—he pegged her at around twenty-five—to be traipsing around the far side of the Flying Ace in the wee hours of a Saturday morning. And the woman in question had certainly not provided him with one.

  Night-blooming cactus.

  If he wasn’t wondering if she might have some connection to the cattle rustlers, he could be amused by that.

  But he was wondering. A lookout? A scout?

  None of the scenarios that came to mind seemed to work. Or rather, she didn’t seem to fit any of them. Maybe he didn’t want her to fit.

  Whatever she’d been doing out there, Dane would know before he let her go.

  At the hospital Dane carried his passenger in through the emergency entrance, where a nurse met them with a wheelchair. As was the way of hospitals everywhere, the first order of business was the paperwork.

  Ms. Smith, Dane noticed as she filled out the forms, had no insurance. He made a note of the social security number she wrote down, but he’d bet his next meal that it didn’t belong to anyone named Carla Smith.

  In the exam room a few minutes later, with her coat draped across a chair and Dr. Will Carver bending over her ankle, Dane got his first good look at his trespasser. Her jeans were snug and soft with age. Her thick sweater draped to her hips and revealed just enough of the curves beneath to entice.

  Her nose wasn’t red now, as it had been in his first sight of her in the beam of his flashlight, but it was still narrow, drawing his gaze to a pair of lips curved to make a man want to take a taste. Dane was a man. The strength of the wanting that seized him as he stared at her lips told him he’d obviously been neglecting his social life way too long. At best she was a trespasser. At the worst…

  But she was a looker, with that dainty chin, pale blue eyes and a thick halo of light gold hair that practically whispered Come, sink your hands in me.

  That did it. He was getting out his little black book and finding himself a date the first chance he got. He’d definitely been alone too long when a woman’s hair started speaking to him, in complete sentences.

  As pretty as she was, though, his trespasser looked beat. Pain tightened the skin around her mouth, and her eyes spoke of exhaustion. He wondered how long she’d been out there walking around in the dark. And what the hell she’d been doing.

  He intended to find out as soon as they left the hospital.

  Will poked and prodded at his patient’s foot and ankle, then had the nurse wheel her down the hall for an X-ray. She was back a few minutes later, and Will put a cold pack on her ankle while they waited. It wasn’t long before the X-ray was ready.

  “As I thought,” Will said. “Nothing’s broken.”

  The patient grimaced. “I guess that’s good. If it hurt any worse, I’d probably embarrass myself and bawl like a baby.”

  “I’ll give you something for the pain,” Will told her. “But you’ll need to stay off this foot for a few days, until the swelling goes down. Alternating twenty minutes of cold with twenty of heat will help that. You’ve got a pulled muscle and some torn ligaments. When the swelling goes down, you can start putting some weight on it, but don’t overdo it, or you’ll just tear those ligaments again and build up scar tissue that will impede the flexibility of the joint.”

  “As much fun as it is having a big, strong man carry me around,” she said with great sarcasm as she batted her lashes at Dane, “I don’t think it’s going to be a convenient mode of transportation for long. When will the swelling go down?”

  Will chuckled. “I’d say in a couple of days, if you stay off it.”

  “But driving’s okay, right?” she asked.

  “Only if you can do it without using this foot.”

  She frowned. The foot in question was her right one. “You’re just full of good news.”

  Will held his arms out from his sides. “It could be worse. We’ll fix you up with a pair of crutches before you leave, if that helps.”

  She shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “It will. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault I’ve crippled myself.” She placed special emphasis on the word your and shot Dane a look that said it was his fault.

  Dane arched his brow and folded his arms across his chest. “I guess that’s just one of the hazards of searching for night-blooming cactus.”

  Will scratched his head and frowned. “What?”

  “Never mind,” his patient said swiftly.

  The only piece of business left after she familiarized herself with her new crutches was to pay for the services rendered.

  Of course, the woman had no purse on her, therefore, no money.

  Dane bit back a curse. “Bill my office, will you?” he asked the nurse who doubled as a clerk at this time of night.

  “How kind, Sheriff.” The woman with the crutches tucked beneath her arms gave him a biting grin.

  “You’ll pay me back,” he told her tersely.

  “I doubt it, seeing how this was all your fault in the first place.”

  Dane opened his mouth, ready to point out the obvious, that had she not been breaking the law to begin with by trespassing on private property, she wouldn’t have fallen and hurt herself. But he kept silent, not wanting to air the matter in front of the all-too-curious hospital staff. He figured it must get pretty boring around the hospital in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to leave them any more fuel for gossip than necessary.

  He strode to the door and held it open. “After you,” he said to the woman calling herself Carla Smith.

  She paused in the doorway and looked at him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “And in exchange, you expect me to tell you the story of my life?”

  “The story of your night will do for starters.”

  “Now why,” she muttered as she crutched her way out into the cold night, “did I know he was going to say that.”

  Dane bit back a sudden grin and followed her.

  Chapter Two

  The sign over the rear entrance of the three-story granite building read Wyatt County Courthouse.

  Stacey narrowed her eyes. “Why are we here?” She turned her gaze on the sheriff, noticing, not for the first time, the strong shape of his lips.

  “It’s the only place in town that serves coffee at this time of night.”

  Yeah, right, Stacey thought, irritated with herself for liking the way his mouth moved when he spoke. “The courthouse serves coffee?”

  “My office serves coffee,” the sheriff corrected.

  “The sheriff’s office,” she said.

  “That’s right.” He killed the engine and lights and pulled his key from the ignition.

  Stacey wanted to ask if she was under arrest, but he hadn’t said she was, hadn’t read her her rights, so she swallowed the question. No sense putting ideas into his head.

  “I’ve got a couch you can stretch out on, too,” he told her. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.” His slight smile both apologized and challenged.

  “You sweet-talking devil,” she told him, batting her eyes before looking away. “Just what a girl wants to hear after a night like this one.”

  “Don’t blame me for tonight,” the sheriff said. “You’re the one who decided to take a hike.”

  Stacey nearly snorted but settled for a sniff. She’d taken a hike, all right, and she would dearly love to take another one at that very moment. Unfortunately, she didn’t think she’d get very far on crutches. Especially with the way that pain pill the doctor had given her was kicking in. She could feel herself sliding downhill fast.

  “On second thought,” she told the sheriff, “I think I’ll pass on the coffee. What I really need to do is go home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  Since he’d killed the engine, the cold was starting to seep into the vehicle. Stacey hugged her coat tighter around herself and lied. “Laramie.” />
  “That’s a little out of my territory,” the sheriff told her. “We don’t have a bus line or passenger train in town. No airline service, either. Since you can’t drive, I guess for right now you’re going to have to settle for the couch in my office.”

  Stacey felt herself getting sleepy, courtesy of a night of fresh air and exercise, and the pain pill. At least the sheriff wasn’t talking about arresting her. Still, the sooner she parted company with the long arm of the law, the better she would feel, no matter how fascinated she was by his mouth.

  “I don’t suppose,” she said to him, “that since I already owe you for the hospital—did I thank you for that? In case I didn’t, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I can reimburse you as soon as I get my car back and I get my purse out of the trunk.”

  “We’ll get your car in a few hours, when I can get someone to drive it in.”

  “Thank you.” She stared straight ahead, toward the rear door of the courthouse and into its lighted hallway. Anyplace to avoid looking at those lips again. “So, since I’ll be paying you back tomorrow, I don’t suppose you’d like to lend me a little more. Just enough for a motel room for the night.”

  He made a low humming sound in his throat, as if he were considering her request. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head.

  “I don’t suppose so,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll be letting you out of my sight until I talk with the folks at the Flying Ace and see if they want to press charges.”

  “Charges?” she cried. “Come on, I didn’t hurt anything. All I did was walk around in a bunch of sagebrush and pinyon.”

  “On private property.”

  “So you say,” she grumbled.

  “So I know. Come on. There’s no sense sitting out here all night. Let’s go inside and you can catch a nap while we wait for morning and a decent hour for me to call the ranch.”

  Stacey gave up. She might as well go inside with him, since she didn’t have any other choice.

  But she didn’t have to like it.

  “All right,” she finally said. “But I warn you, I’m going to fall asleep.”

  The courthouse building was old, late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, Stacey guessed, with oak floors that creaked and ceilings that soared, but she didn’t get to see much of it, because the door to the sheriff’s office, with its black stenciled lettering across frosted glass, was first on the right. Which was fine with her. She was too exhausted and sleepy to tackle, on her unfamiliar crutches, the long hall that bisected the building.

  The good news was, she thought as Sheriff Hunk—oh, good grief! She nearly giggled at her Freudian slip. He was a handsome devil, even if he was currently making her life miserable. She’d gotten her first good look at him in the brightly lit hospital. For a moment, there on the exam table, she’d very nearly forgotten the pain in her ankle. She’d been temporarily mesmerized by dark blue eyes that seemed to look right through her.

  When he took off his hat, her fingers had actually tingled with the urge to touch his thick black hair. She wanted to know if it was soft or wiry. It looked soft.

  His face was broad and strong, with even features and a million-watt smile, when he chose to use it. He’d smiled at the nurses and the doctor, but not at her.

  In the car, after leaving the hospital, she hadn’t been able to see much but his profile. That’s when the strong cut of his lips had grabbed her attention.

  Lord, her mind was wandering. She’d had an actual, rational thought in her head a minute ago, before she’d thought of him as Sheriff Hunk.

  She nearly giggled at the term.

  He was Sheriff Powell, Dane Powell, and she’d best be remembering that.

  As he held the office door open for her, she realized that her ankle no longer hurt. In fact, she couldn’t feel it at all. Not the ankle, not her toes. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her eyelids were going numb, too. They kept drooping despite her best efforts to hold them open.

  Boy, that was some pain pill.

  Through her waning senses, she took in the low wooden railing that separated the entryway from the rest of the office. The sheriff stepped past her and held open a swinging gate for her to pass through.

  Inside the office itself Stacey concentrated on working her crutches so they wouldn’t slide out from under her on the freshly waxed floor. Around the room sat old wooden desks, only one of which was occupied. There were gray metal file cabinets and beige computer terminals. On the wall she caught a glimpse of wanted posters alongside framed photographs. There was a door marked Wyatt County Sheriff in the far front corner, an unmarked door midway down that wall, and the word jail stenciled on the door at the rear of the office.

  Jail.

  He wouldn’t dare. Surely he didn’t plan to put her in a cell. He still hadn’t read her rights to her, hadn’t said she was under arrest.

  She stopped with the sheriff at the first desk, where he introduced her to the young, freckle-faced man there.

  “Donnie, this is Carla Smith.”

  “How’do, ma’am,” Donnie said with a grin and a nod.

  “Ms. Smith,” Powell said to her, “Deputy Fowler.”

  “Deputy,” she acknowledged.

  “Aw, heck, ma’am.” His grin was wide, and his face was flushed. “Just call me Donnie.”

  “Why, thank you.” She chanced a glance at the sheriff in time to see him roll his eyes and shake his head.

  “Ms. Smith’s had a long night, Donnie. She’s going to stretch out on the couch in my office for a while.”

  “Oh, well, sure,” Donnie said with a nod and a shuffle. “You go right ahead and have yourself a good rest, and if you need anything, you just call on Donnie, you hear?”

  “Why thank you, Dep—I mean Donnie.”

  “This way,” the sheriff said with another roll of his eyes. He pushed open the door to his private office and ushered her inside.

  Like the desks out in the open room, his was old and wooden, but larger than the others, and in better condition with fewer nicks and scars. His leather chair was huge, his computer efficient-looking. Two wing chairs in burgundy leather faced his desk, and behind them, against the wall, sat a long matching sofa. The furniture looked expensive.

  Stacey frowned. “I thought county sheriffs were notoriously underfunded.”

  “You thought right.” Powell pushed the door closed behind her. “Any particular reason you mention it?”

  “I just wondered how the taxpayers feel about your spending their hard-earned dollars on fancy furniture.”

  “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you work for the governor and were sent here undercover to ferret out waste in the county budget.”

  She snorted and started toward the couch. She didn’t really care what the taxpayers thought at that moment. She was only grateful the couch was there. It looked like heaven to Stacey.

  “FYI,” the sheriff told her, “the couch and matching chairs, the lamps, and a few other items out in the main room, were donated by generous citizens. The county’s tax dollars are safe from abuse. At least by this office. Does that make you feel better?”

  Stacey eased down onto the soft leather cushion and let out a long sigh. “Oh, yes. I feel much better now.” Still wearing her coat, she put her crutches on the floor and lay down. She curled her arm up beneath her head, closed her eyes and let the pain pill pull her under.

  Watching her, Dane was surprised she’d held out as long as she had. The medication had worked fast. He had the strangest urge to smooth that pale lock of hair from her cheek. To carry her home with him and tuck her in bed, where she would be more comfortable and he could take care of her.

  The very idea was not only startling, it was appalling, and completely unlike him. Not to mention inappropriate. He was the sheriff, she the…suspect?

  No, she wasn’t suspected of anything. He’d caught her in the act.

  Perp?
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br />   That made it sound as though she’d held up a liquor store in a police drama on television.

  Trespasser. She was that, for certain.

  But was she more? If it weren’t for the cattle rustling in the area, and if she hadn’t hurt herself, he never would have brought her in. He would have put the fear of God into her for taking a hike on someone else’s property, then he would have sent her on her way. After calling in her tag number and checking for priors or outstanding warrants, of course. He doubted he’d find either on her.

  But there was the matter of the cattle rustlers, and the fact that she’d been lying through her pretty white teeth from the moment he’d asked what she’d been doing out there on the Flying Ace. She’d lied about her name. He’d bet a month’s salary that it wasn’t Carla Smith, and she probably didn’t live in Laramie.

  The woman didn’t lie worth a damn.

  Maybe if she didn’t look so much like an innocent angel he wouldn’t be trying so hard to figure her out. An uncomfortable angel, he thought, noting the awkward bend of her neck as she slept on his couch. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her coat. She’d just more or less keeled over.

  A knock sounded quietly on his door.

  Dane took off his coat and hung it on the hook next to the door before answering.

  It was Donnie, but then, who else could it have been? Dane put a finger to his lips and gave a nod toward the couch.

  Donnie leaned forward to peer around the edge of the door. “You said…wow, she’s already asleep?” he whispered.

  “Yeah. What have you got?”

  “Oh. I thought she might want these.” The deputy held out a folded gray blanket and a pillow with no pillowcase.

  Dane took them, knowing Donnie had gotten them from one of the two cells they kept on this floor for female prisoners. Male prisoners were housed down in the basement.