“Me, too. I’m sorry the situation got out of control, forcing you to step in.”
Even handcuffed in the back of a police car, Tucker didn’t regret his decision to help her. “No worries. You tried to call the cops. It’s not your fault the guy went ballistic when he saw you with a phone.”
“I could have walked away when he knocked it from my hand.” A dark, distant look filled her eyes. “Somehow that didn’t seem like an option at the time. The horse was just standing there, waiting for more blows, too well trained to do otherwise.” Her voice trailed off. Then she swallowed and went on. “People are like that sometimes, conditioned all their lives to follow the rules and expecting everyone else to do the same. When that isn’t the way it happens, they don’t know how to react.”
Tucker had an uneasy feeling she might be talking about herself. Reacting to a situation had never been a problem for him. Reacting appropriately was his only challenge.
“You did what had to be done,” he said. “And it took a lot of courage.”
Her cheeks went pink with embarrassment. “Courage? I was scared to death.”
“Isn’t that what courage is all about? The guy who dashes into a burning building without fear isn’t brave. He’s just an idiot.”
She laughed softly. Tucker decided he liked the sound, a melodic tinkling that lingered lightly in the air. He also enjoyed her smile, a hesitant curve of her lush mouth that tipped up the corners and then slowly blossomed.
For the second time since meeting her, he noted how pretty she was. Feature by feature, her face wasn’t perfect. Her nose was a little too pronounced along the bridge, her cheekbones a bit too high, her mouth a shade too generous, but overall the effect was stunning. Lush black lashes lined her dark eyes, lending them depth a man could drown in if he wasn’t careful. In the afternoon sunlight that slanted through the side window, her sun-kissed, ivory complexion put him in mind of peaches drizzled with cream, its flawless texture set off to perfection by her ebony hair, which wisped and curled in an untamed cloud.
Sitting with her spine arched to accommodate her cuffed hands had thrust her breasts forward like plump little melons beneath her blue plaid shirt. Not wanting to stare, he slid his gaze to the graceful slope of her neck, to the shell-like curve of her ear peeking out through the curls, and finally to her mouth. Damn. All his life his mother had preached that sometimes less was more. The saying had baffled him until now. This lady wasn’t very big, but every inch of her packed a wallop. In retrospect, he wondered how he could have compared her to Tinkerbell. No pixie, real or imagined, could be so delightfully curvaceous.
Uneasiness washed over Samantha. He was staring at her as he might a strange bug pinned to velvet. Even worse, her skin warmed and tingled beneath his gaze.
Since her divorce, Samantha had maintained a bulletproof immunity to the opposite sex. Flirtatious grins left her cold. Suggestive innuendoes either revolted her or ticked her off, sometimes both. The only male company she really enjoyed anymore was that of her father, brothers, or ranch foreman, and she tried to maintain some emotional distance even with them. For that reason, it came as something of a shock that everything about this man appealed to her.
Even with his nose swollen and leaning sharply to one side, he was handsome in a rugged way—tall and lean yet broad-shouldered and muscular, with the look of someone who was no stranger to hard work. His tousled sable brown hair fell across his high forehead in lazy waves. His eyes, a clear sapphire blue, were almost startling in contrast to his skin, which had been burnished to teak by the sun. She especially liked the cut of his features, which were purely masculine, each line as sharp and hard as chiseled granite. He had a strong jaw, a square chin, and a firm yet sensual mouth. In addition to all of that, he was chivalrous, charming, and just impulsive enough to be interesting.
She would never forget how he had grumped at the deputy. Most people knew to keep their mouths shut in situations like that. But this man had spoken his mind, devil take the consequences. She liked that about him. She liked it a lot.
And that scared her to death. Instant attractions were dangerous. The little thrill she felt every time she looked into his eyes was a warning sign. She’d fallen fast and hard for a man once. It had been the worst mistake of her life.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Samantha jerked her thoughts back to the moment, gathered her composure, and forced a smile. “I’m a lot more okay than you are. When we get this ironed out, you’ll be spending the rest of the night in the ER getting your nose fixed. It’s leaning over so far it’s almost touching your cheek.”
He crossed his eyes, trying to assess the damage. Then he shrugged. “In my line of work, getting my nose busted every once in a while is par for the course. Another knot will add character.”
Samantha was about to inquire about his profession, but his complete lack of concern about his appearance made her lose the thought. When her ex-husband had gotten a pimple, he’d fretted over it for days, afraid it might leave a scar. It was refreshing to meet a man outside her immediate family who didn’t obsess about his looks.
There had to be something about this guy she didn’t like, she thought a little desperately. She had only to keep asking questions until she discovered what it was.
“My name’s Samantha Harrigan,” she blurted.
Mention of her last name rarely failed to weed out the jerks. Her father, Frank Harrigan, a self-made million aire, was almost a legend in rodeo circles. Seven years ago Steve Fisher had been hugely impressed when he learned Samantha was Frank’s daughter. Unfortunately she’d been so young and gullible back then that she’d failed to notice the dollar signs flashing in his eyes when he’d professed his undying love for her.
This man rolled her first name over his tongue as if savoring its flavor. Then he nodded. “Samantha. It suits you. I’m Tucker Coulter.”
That was it? She’d expected more of a reaction, and stared at him, nonplussed. “Are you new to Crystal Falls?”
“No, born and raised here. Why do you ask?”
Samantha shifted her position, trying to regroup. Most rodeo enthusiasts knew the Harrigan name.
The deputy returned to the car just then. After slipping behind the steering wheel, he slammed the driver’s door, started the engine, and turned up the air conditioner. “Sorry about the delay. It’s a wonder you didn’t suffocate in here.”
As he nosed the vehicle through the throngs of milling people to reach the gravel road that led from the com pound to the highway, he grabbed the radio mike. There followed an exchange between him and a female dispatcher that was mostly a bunch of number codes Samantha couldn’t follow.
“Ten-twenty means your location,” Tucker translated, as if sensing her confusion. “ETA means estimated time of arrival. Code four-A means no further assistance needed.”
She sent him a wondering look. “And you know this because…?”
“When I was a kid I wanted to be a cop, and memorized most of the codes.” He inclined his head at the deputy. “A possible ten-one-zero-two means possible cruelty to an animal. UTL means unable to locate. I’m assuming he means the horse.”
Samantha frowned. “Have they even bothered to look?
That poor animal has some pretty nasty cuts. He needs veterinary care ASAP.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed in thought. “The cuts were superficial. He’ll be fine on that count. I’m more worried about him being at large and possibly injuring himself—or someone else.” He returned his attention to the radio exchange and shook his head in disgust. “You didn’t hit the drunk first. Damn. What’s this guy been smoking?”
“He’s just repeating what the witnesses told him.”
“Right.” Not bothering to lower his voice, he added,
“Pardon me for pointing it out, but a good cop should have enough common sense to sort through the malarkey. What woman in her right mind would push an abusive, angry drunk into a physical confrontation?”
/>
Samantha couldn’t argue the point.
Hoping to calm him down, she said, “I’m amazed you can recall codes you memorized as a kid.”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been good at remembering stuff.”
As the county vehicle entered the stream of highway traffic and began picking up speed, Samantha’s thoughts circled back to this man’s total lack of reaction to her father’s name. Given his sharp memory, he would surely re member if he’d ever heard of Frank Harrigan.
Curiosity piqued, she stared out the window at the passing buildings for a moment. Then she sent him a questioning look. “Are you new to the rodeo scene?”
He grinned good-naturedly. “I’m not part of the scene, period. Used to be years ago, but then a family tragedy made me lose interest. I only volunteer now because it’s good for business.”
He had the look of a horseman. Sam had teethed on saddle leather and knew a greenhorn when she saw one. Tucker Coulter didn’t fit the bill. He even walked like a cowboy, his long legs slightly bowed, his hips moving with well-oiled ease. She’d first pegged him as a second-or third-generation rancher, someone who’d spent most of his life on a horse and remained in the family enterprise as an adult, much as she had. He wore the right clothing for it—well-worn Wrangler jeans, a wrinkled chambray shirt, and scuffed riding boots.
The car rocked to one side as it took a turn. With her arms cuffed behind her, Samantha had to lean sharply in the opposite direction to keep from toppling. “So you don’t like horses and cows?”
“Didn’t say that.” Instead of struggling to stay erect, as she was, he pressed a shoulder against his door. “I love horses, and I like cows all right, although I have to say cows aren’t the smartest animals on the planet. In my opinion, they’re more appealing on a barbecue grill than on the hoof.” Never missing a beat, he added, “Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”
Samantha found herself wanting to smile again. Was it possible that he found her as attractive as she did him?
Not a good situation. Just looking at him made her pulse beat a little faster. “No, I’m not a vegetarian.”
“Whew,” he said, feigning relief. “You never know these days. I’ve dated four, no, five women over the last six months who got so pissed when I ordered a steak, they left the restaurant and called a cab.”
Samantha wasn’t surprised to learn that he dated a lot. A man with his dark good looks probably had a little black book as thick as a Bible. And there it was, a reason to dislike him.
“I’ll bet you’ve never been married,” she mused aloud.
“Nope. Here I am, almost thirty-six, and I haven’t found the right lady yet.” He gave her another long study. “Maybe I’ve just been looking in all the wrong places.”
Samantha had heard that line before. She wanted to tell him not to waste his breath. But why waste hers?
“Count yourself lucky,” the deputy interjected from the front seat. “I wish I was thirty-six and single. It beats the hell out of being forty-two and divorced with three kids to support.”
Tucker winked at Samantha. “He’s human, after all.”
“Go ahead. Take your shots,” the deputy said. “You think this job is a walk in the park? I’ve dealt with nothing but drunk troublemakers for two solid days.” He jerked off his hat and tossed it onto the front passenger seat. “Long hours, pitiful pay, and”—he glowered at Tucker in the rearview mirror—“no respect. Do you think I wanted to arrest your lady friend? It’s obvious as hell the drunk boxed her on the jaw. But guilt or innocence isn’t for me to decide. I’m sworn to uphold the law. The other guy pressed charges. I can’t let the two of you walk just because I think he’s lying.”
After a moment of silence, Tucker nodded. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“You guess?”
“All right, I do owe you an apology,” Tucker amended. “I’ve given you a hard time for doing your job. I shouldn’t have.”
The deputy’s sunglasses followed his hat onto the adjacent seat. “Thank you. And if I came off as unfeeling, I apologize, too. If it’s any consolation, I think you’ll be in and out pretty fast. That guy is so plastered he can’t keep his name straight, let alone his story. It won’t be difficult to trip him up and get to the bottom of what actually happened.”
“So what went wrong with your marriage?” Tucker asked. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
“You ever heard that song about the guy driving by his house and seeing some stranger living his life?” the deputy asked. “That’s me. He’s got my house, my wife and kids, even my dog. While I was working the night shift, trying to support my family, she was two-timing me. When all was said and done, the only thing I got was my pickup truck, and I owe payments on that.”
Tucker lifted a dark eyebrow. “Surely you get to see your kids.”
“Every other weekend, but it’s getting so they don’t want to come anymore. I don’t have much to offer them for entertainment. I can’t even afford a pizza.” He huffed in disgust.
Samantha’s heart hurt for the deputy. She knew how it felt to trust someone and be betrayed. At least she and Steve hadn’t had children.
“Not all marriages end that way,” Tucker said. “My parents have been together for forty years.”
“They’re lucky,” the deputy replied. “Damn lucky. Nowadays marriages are like cars: not made to last.”
Samantha agreed with that sentiment. The only way she would ever say “I do” again was with a gun pressed to her head.
The deputy braked to make a right turn into the sheriff’s department parking lot.
“Well,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “It looks like we’re here.”
Tucker gave her a sharp look. “Don’t let them put you in a cell with anyone else,” he said. “Chances are we won’t be here very long, but just in case, it’s better to be locked up alone.”
“You think we have vacancies?” The deputy collected his hat and settled it back on his head. “I’ll see what I can do, but don’t count on it being much. The place is packed tighter than a can of sardines.”
Samantha turned her gaze to the cinder-block building, painted icky government green. The only jails she’d ever seen had been in movies. “If they try to put you in with someone else, raise holy hell,” Tucker stressed.
That was all he had time to say. The next second, another male deputy emerged from the building, the rear doors of the vehicle were jerked open, and she was seized by the elbow to be pulled unceremoniously from the car.
Chapter Three
The inside of the sheriff’s department was a bustle of confused activity, with uniformed officers, both male and female, hurrying about, looking harried and exhausted. “Rodeo Days” was a muttered refrain in much the same tone as one might say, “Black plague.” Tucker lost sight of Samantha Harrigan in the blur of moving bodies. He hoped she was having a better time of it than he was. He also hoped she remembered his warning and insisted on being given an unoccupied cell. As crowded as this place was, God only knew what kind of person she might get stuck with.
A few minutes later Tucker was led into an interior office, relieved of the handcuffs, and told to have a seat. “Aren’t you going to lock me up?” he asked the stocky male deputy.
“No room.” The man smoothed a hand over his gray hair. His uniform looked as if he’d slept in it. “All one hundred and forty-one cells are packed full. Never fails. Rodeo Days brings ’em crawling out of the woodwork.” He sighed and shook his head. “We’re working on getting the charges against you dropped. The drunk can’t keep his story straight, and the woman is developing a shiner, corroborating her story that the man slugged her.”
Sanity, at last. Tucker sat back on the chair, rubbing his wrists. “If she hadn’t fallen against the horse, he would have decked her. What was I supposed to do, let him hit her again?”
“Between you, me, and a fence post, I would have jumped in, too.” The deputy jabbe
d a thumb at a coffee machine along the wall. “Java’s free. While you’re waiting, help yourself. Just don’t put your feet on the boss’s desk. It really pisses him off.”
Tucker took that to mean he was in the head honcho’s office. After the deputy exited, taking care to lock the door behind him, Tucker pushed to his feet to circle the room. The walls were covered haphazardly with tattered papers—changes in procedure, work schedules, and scribbled notes.
A group of news clippings on a bulletin board drew Tucker’s attention. He had just stepped over to check them out when the door clicked open behind him. He turned to see Samantha Harrigan entering, a middle-aged female deputy following at her heels.
“Since the two of you are friends, you can wait it out in here together,” the deputy said. “Might make the time pass more quickly.”
Speaking simultaneously, both Samantha and Tucker blurted, “We aren’t really—” But then they both broke off before finishing the sentence. They weren’t exactly friends, after all—or even what most people might term acquaintances. But the alternative—being stuffed into a cell crowded with strangers—wasn’t appealing.
The deputy removed Samantha’s handcuffs and gave her the same spiel Tucker had heard, that the drunk couldn’t keep his story straight and she should be out of there and headed home within a couple of hours.
“Have you found the horse?” Samantha asked, rubbing her wrists where the cuffs had chafed her skin.
“We’ve called the Humane Society,” the deputy assured her. “They’ve got people combing the fairgrounds trying to find him as we speak.”
“He’s hurt,” Samantha stressed, “and probably frightened as well. He shouldn’t be wandering loose in a crowded compound. Horses are large, potentially dangerous animals, especially when they panic.”
“We’re on top of it,” the older brunette insisted. “They’ll find him.”
“When they do, will they return him to his owner?” Samantha asked.