Read the book: «Showdown in West Texas»

The man was nothing but trouble…but he sure could kiss!

Before she had time to protest, he had kissed her, threading his fingers through her hair so she couldn’t pull away.

Not that she tried. Not for a moment or two at least..

What she did was part her lips and melt into the kiss. The joining tasted like ambrosia, his scent making her crave him even more. His kiss was warm, soft and inviting, and when he slid a hand down her arm to curve around her waist—

She stepped back and gave him a good slap.

Cage looked stunned. “What did you do that for?”

“You don’t just come to a woman’s room and assume you’ll be welcome. Next time, you ask first.”

“Next time—”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him all the way into the room.

Showdown in West Texas
Amanda Stevens

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amanda Stevens is a bestselling author of more than thirty novels of romantic suspense. In addition to being a Romance Writers of America RITA^® Award finalist, she is also a recipient of awards for Career Acheivement in Romantic/Mystery and Career Acheivement in Romantic/Suspense from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. She currently resides in Texas. To find out more about past, present and future projects, please visit her Web site at www.amandastevens.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Cage Nichols—A down-on-his-luck salesman witnesses a brutal shootout, assumes the identity of a hit man, poses as a hotshot detective and falls for the new sheriff. And that’s just Day One.

Sheriff Grace Steele—Someone wants her dead, and the new guy just wants her. She can handle the drug smugglers, the dirty cops, a conniving ex-husband and her disgruntled little sister, but love is like West Texas…not for the faint of heart.

Detective Lily Steele—For years she’s carried a grudge against her big sister. Now that Grace is back in Jericho Pass, Lily thinks it’s time for a showdown.

Colt McKinney—A wheeler-dealer known as the Donald Trump of Cochise County. Did he have an ulterior motive for bringing Grace back to Jericho Pass?

Jesse Nance—Grace’s ex-husband has a little deed problem. And a great big secret.

Sookie Truesdale—Jesse’s new live-in is manipulative, greedy and high maintenance. And those are her good qualities.

Ethan Brennan—A mild-mannered tenderfoot with a not-so-secret crush.

Dale Walsh—Hit man? Cop? Or both?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

“Lily is absolutely livid.” Grace Steele adjusted the headset of her cell phone so that her fingers were free to drum impatiently on the steering wheel. “I don’t know that she’ll ever forgive me. If she could find a way to do me in without getting caught, I think she might actually try it.”

“I’m assuming that’s a gross exaggeration,” Colt McKinney said from the other end. “Although, I don’t doubt she’ll get a secret kick out of making your life miserable for a while.”

“Nothing secret about it,” Grace said. “She’ll revel in it.”

“Have you tried reasoning with her?”

“Have you?”

Grace heard his easygoing chuckle through the earpiece, and she wished they could share a good laugh the way they used to back in high school. But it had been a long time since she’d found life even remotely amusing, and she wasn’t at all confident that things would be looking up any time soon.

However, if anyone could put the semblance of a smile on her face, it was Colt. He was as charming and handsome as ever, but Grace had never thought of him as anything more than a good friend. Now that they were professional associates, it was important to her that they not allow even so much as a hint of impropriety to taint their relationship. The last thing she needed was to be accused of sleeping her way to the top.

Again.

Colt McKinney was one of four elected commissioners that governed Cochise County, and was personally responsible for bringing Grace back to Jericho Pass to serve as the interim sheriff while Charlie Dickerson underwent treatment for throat cancer.

If someone had told Grace this time last year that she’d be returning to her hometown—a place she’d left without a backward glance after high school—she’d have laughed in their face. Only a few months ago, she’d still been a rising star in the prestigious TBI—Texas Bureau of Investigation.

But a botched case and a dead agent had placed Grace squarely on the wrong side of a review board, and she’d soon discovered just how quickly her fortunes could change when her superior—who also happened to be her lover—needed a way to save his own hide.

She’d been suspended without pay pending an internal investigation, and when termination seemed inevitable, she’d decided to salvage what little she had left of her pride and her professional integrity by tendering her resignation. Colt’s offer had come at a time when she’d desperately needed a graceful exit from Austin, and she’d latched on with both hands.

Unfortunately, her arrival in Jericho Pass hadn’t exactly been met without controversy or resentment, either. There were those in the Cochise County Sheriff’s office who had felt—and still did—that the selection should have come from within the department. That Colt, in fact, was playing favoritism by appointing an old friend to the position.

But in light of recent intelligence reports and an uptick in violence along the border, he and the other commissioners had been determined to bring in someone with Grace’s training and experience, not to mention her political connections at the state capital.

Because of its proximity to the border, Jericho Pass sat in a particularly vulnerable location. The good-old-boy network that had run things for years in Cochise County was no longer sufficient to combat the narco-traffickers who were often armed with better technology and weaponry than the police.

“We knew there’d be some hard feelings in the department when we brought you in,” Colt said. “But it’s only been a few weeks. Give it some time. They’ll come around.”

“Lily won’t.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“I know my sister.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“Nothing. I’m not leaving Jericho Pass with my tail tucked between my legs just because my little sister can’t get past our old sibling rivalry.” Grace simultaneously gripped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas. She had the road to herself, and when the powerful V-8 engine kicked in, her truck shot down the road like a rocket. “I came here to do a job and I intend to do it.”

“Good for you.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t give Lily some space,” she said. “I’m moving out of the ranch house today. I must have been out of my mind, thinking we could live together without one of us killing the other.”

“Things are that bad, huh?”

“Worse. But I’m used to it.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’ve taken a room at Miss Nelda’s until I can find a place of my own in town.”

“Well, hang in there,” Colt said. “Tempers are bound to be on edge, what with the department being so shorthanded and all. But with you at the helm, and now with the possibility of a new deputy coming on board, things should ease up.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Have you met this guy?”

“You mean Dale Walsh? Not in person, no, but he comes highly recommended. Charlie’s been trying to get him out here for an interview ever since they met at the Homeland Security Conference in San Antonio. And I trust Charlie’s judgment. He may not have your pedigree in law enforcement, but he knows people.”

“When Walsh eventually shows up, I’ll let you know what I think,” Grace said noncommittally.

“Fair enough. In the meantime, if you need anything, you just give us a holler, okay? I want you to be happy here, Grace. If Charlie decides not to come back—”

Grace wasn’t about to make any promises. Not yet, at least. “Let’s just cross that bridge when and if we get to it, okay? Listen, you’re starting to break up. I’ll talk to you when I get back to town.”

She was coming upon the cutoff, and Grace removed her earpiece and tossed it onto the seat beside her as she automatically turned on her blinker, though there was no one else around for miles. Once she left the highway behind, the truck tires kicked up a dust cloud so thick, she could see nothing in the rearview mirror but a swirl of brown grit. Ahead of her, only the vast nothingness of the West Texas landscape—blue sky, desert and the eerie silhouette of the distant rock mesas.

Grace had been gone from the area for so many years, she’d forgotten how exposed and insignificant one could feel in such a limitless landscape. How the fragile quality of the light seemed to echo the transient nature of man’s footprint here in this infinite wasteland, this last frontier.

She slowed as she drove through the high arches that welcomed visitors to the Steele ranch. Grace had lived happily on that spread with her parents and her two sisters for the first ten years of her life. Then her mother and father had been murdered in their sleep one night, and Grace’s grandmother had moved down from Midland to raise her and her sisters. The killer had never been apprehended, and the lack of justice for their slain parents had led all three women into law enforcement, albeit down very different paths.

Rachel, the oldest, had gone off to study psychology at Tulane. After earning her graduate degree, she’d been recruited by the FBI into one of the Behavioral Analysis Units.

Grace had left town five years later to pursue a degree in Criminal Justice with a concentration in Forensic Science at the University of Texas at San Antonio. She’d spent seven years with the Austin Police Department before joining the TBI.

Lily was the only sister who had remained in Jericho Pass. After attending the local community college, she’d been hired on as first a dispatcher, then a patrol officer with the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department. She was now one of three deputies—soon to be four, if Dale Walsh worked out—who made up Criminal Investigations.

Grace had learned through the grapevine—aka Miss Nelda and her sister, Georgina—that Lily had had her eye on the interim position ever since Charlie Dickerson had made public his diagnosis. She’d made no bones about her intention to run for sheriff, in spite of her age, if he decided to retire after his treatment. A temporary stint in the office would have given her a leg up on her opponents, but her sister’s unexpected return had squelched her big plans.

Grace could sympathize with Lily’s disappointment over the way things had turned out. Grace had had her share of setbacks, too. But even if she’d declined the position, Lily was never going to be appointed. Colt had told her as much. Lily didn’t have enough experience or formal training to deal with the challenges along the border these days. At least this way, Grace could take her sister under her wing and help season her, if Lily would allow it.

That was a big if.

Lily’s frustration, and to a certain extent her resentment, was understandable, but her simmering hostility was something Grace still did not get. What had she done to make Lily dislike her so intensely?

The dust cloud followed Grace around the circular drive, and she waited for it to settle before she climbed out of the truck and stood for a moment, gazing up at the house.

Built out of limestone, it was two stories with screened-in porches on the front and back where Grace used to sit on summer nights and watch the stars with her father. The only sound, save for the hush of her father’s voice as he pointed out the constellations, was the creaking of the windmill. Even now, that sound was one of Grace’s most vivid memories.

It was the creaking of the windmill that had awakened her that night.

AFTER THE FUNERALS, Grandma Stella had moved the girls into a tiny rental house in town. The change of scenery had probably been the best thing for them at the time, but after a while, it seemed more practical to return to the ranch where they could all have their space.

Some of the neighbors had come over and cleaned up the place. They’d aired out all the rooms, shampooed the rugs and even went so far as to add a fresh coat of paint here and there. But no amount of paint or primer could eliminate the horror of what had happened upstairs. Nothing could ease such a tragic loss except the passage of enough time.

Eventually, the ranch had come to seem like home again, but it was a long time before Grace had been able to be by herself in the house. And no wonder. She and Lily had been there when it happened.

Grace still remembered the exact time when the windmill had awakened her. She knew because she’d glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand between her and Lily’s beds. Throwing back the covers, she’d started to climb out of bed and pad over to the window to stare up at the night sky when another sound registered. Someone was coming up the stairs. Grace wanted to believe the cautious footfalls belonged to one of her parents, or maybe Rachel had come home early from her sleepover.

But something about those footsteps…

About the long hesitation at the top of the stairs…

Looking back, Grace was never sure what had alerted her to danger, but for some reason, she slipped out of bed and shook her sister awake. Then with a fingertip to her lips, she dragged Lily onto the floor and shoved her under the bed where the two of them cowered as the footsteps came closer.

The sound stilled again at the open door of the girls’ bedroom, just long enough for Grace to catch a fleeting glimpse of dark boots—nothing more—before the footfalls continued down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom.

If she’d called out a warning, would she have frightened the killer away? Or would she and Lily have met with the same fate as their parents?

There was no way of knowing, of course. And if she’d learned anything in the twenty-three years since that night, it was that guilt couldn’t change a damn thing about the past, but it could sure play hell with the present.

Using the key Lily had begrudgingly given her, Grace let herself into the quiet house. Since their grandmother had died, her sister had been living there all alone.

I couldn’t do it.

Even after all these years, Grace still didn’t like being alone in that house.

I’m not as brave as Lily, she thought as she climbed the stairs.

The door to her and her sister’s old bedroom was ajar, and Grace couldn’t resist peeking in. She knew she should respect her sister’s privacy, but curiosity got the better of her. Lily had been so careful about keeping that door closed, about shutting Grace out from the space they’d once shared, that the room had become almost symbolic of the barrier she’d erected between them.

She knocked on the door. “Lily, you in there?”

Her sister’s truck hadn’t been in the driveway, but she could have pulled around back to park.

Grace pushed the door open a little wider. The scent of her sister’s perfume—a floral scent with a woodsy undertone—drifted out.

“I just came back to pack up my things. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Grace stood on the threshold and glanced around. Gone were the pink ruffles from their childhood and the rock-band posters from their adolescence. Lily had redone the room in a sophisticated palette of beige and grayish blue. Gone, too, were the canopied twin beds with matching coverlets and piles of pillows. In their place was a spacious queen-size with chic but minimalist bedding.

The room could have come straight from Grace’s townhouse in Austin. The sleek, urban furnishings seemed much more in keeping with her taste than Lily’s. Her sister had always been such a romantic. But then, what did she really know about Lily these days? They hadn’t been truly close since they were kids.

Regret tightened Grace’s chest as she backed out the door. She’d been staying in Rachel’s old bedroom since her return, and she hurried there now to pack up her things. As she fastened the lid on her last suitcase, she heard the squeak of a door and went out into the hallway to see if her sister had come in.

“Lily?”

Grace went to the top of the stairs and peered over the railing. “Lily, is that you?”

No answer.

She went back to Rachel’s room, grabbed the suitcases and carried them down the hallway.

As she approached the landing, she heard another sound, this time from Lily’s room.

Or so she thought.

As Grace started to turn, she caught a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye a split second before something hit her from behind.

Her bags tumbled down the stairs as she tried to grab hold of the banister to check her fall.

But it was too late. Already, she was plunging headlong down the wooden staircase.

When she hit the bottom, she rolled onto her back, so dazed she couldn’t immediately process what had happened. Nor did she feel any pain.

In the space of a heartbeat, the only thing that registered was a face at the top of the stairs, peering down at her.

Chapter Two

As Cage Nichols watched the cloud of steam mushroom over the hood of his car, he was reminded of his mother’s favorite saying: “Son, if we didn’t have bad luck, we wouldn’t have no luck at all.”

Back then, Cage hadn’t entirely subscribed to Darleen’s pessimistic outlook on life. Sure, they’d seen a lot of hard times after the old man took off, but Cage had been a good-looking, popular kid with a talent for football and girls, and he’d never minded hard work. Growing up in a small East Texas town, he hadn’t needed much else.

But out in the real world, he’d discovered soon enough that a man needed more than looks and gumption to get by. Even a good education and the right connections could only take him so far. What a man really had to have was a little luck.

Cage could remember the exact moment when his had run out—at precisely 9:56 on a Friday night sixteen years ago.

He’d caught the winning touchdown in the last game of the season just as the clock wound down. In that moment of mindless exhilaration, he’d failed to note the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker still bearing down on him from his left. The late hit had caught him completely off guard, and the resulting knee injury had ended his dream of a full-ride scholarship to Southern Methodist University.

Ten years later, a hollow-nose bullet fired at close range from a thug’s 9mm handgun into the same knee had ended his career as a SWAT officer with the Dallas P.D.

Now Cage sold oilfield equipment for his brother-in-law, Wayne Cordell. Or tried to.

His sales record had been pretty dismal thus far, partly because of the downturn in the economy, but mostly because Cage wasn’t much of a salesman.

Which was why he desperately needed to close the El Paso deal.

Which was why the steam pouring out of the grill of his car as he coasted to the shoulder of the road made him want to put his fist through the windshield.

Instead, he got out, raised the hood, then slammed it shut a few minutes later. Just his luck. He’d blown a damn radiator hose.

Helluva place to be stranded, he thought, as he took stock of his surroundings. He was literally in the middle of nowhere. A good hundred and eighty miles from El Paso and less than twenty miles from the Mexican border. A no-man’s-land of tumbleweed, cholla cactus, and whatever wildlife could survive the blistering Chihuahuan Desert heat.

Sweat trickled down Cage’s back as he got out his phone and checked for a signal. Nada.

Well, that figured.

What aggravated him more than the inconvenience of the breakdown was Wayne’s warning before Cage left Dallas. “That clunker won’t get you as far as Waco, much less El Paso. Just fly down there tomorrow, close the deal, and get your ass back here with that contract. Or else don’t bother coming back at all,” he’d added with an ominous glare.

If Cage had followed his brother-in-law’s advice, he’d already be in El Paso working on his pitch for the four o’clock meeting. Afterward, he could have hopped on a Southwest Airlines jet and been back home in time for the Mavericks tip-off since they were playing on the West Coast that night.

But, no.

Cage had had the bright idea to drive down overnight, drop in on a few of their best customers and hope that the personal touch and a little charm might persuade them to throw a couple of bones his way.

But that hadn’t exactly worked out like gangbusters. Mostly, it had been a big waste of time.

So, not only would he end up getting canned for blowing the El Paso deal, he’d have to listen to Wayne’s I told you so from now until eternity—or until his sister wised up and divorced the smug bastard.

Not that Cage was in any position to cast stones. He was hardly a catch himself these days. And if he hadn’t been so damn hardheaded, he wouldn’t be in his current predicament—miles off the beaten track, stuck in the desert with a half-empty water bottle and a dead cell phone to his name.

Things are really looking up for you, buddy.

He tried to find the bright side as he watched an earless lizard peeking through the orange blossoms of a prickly pear. At least he wasn’t that far from the nearest town. He’d seen a sign a few miles back for a place called San Miguel.

But when Cage got out his map, he couldn’t find it in the listings. Probably one of those tiny outposts along the Mexican border that time and civilization had forsaken.

He was doubtful he’d find a garage there, but surely he’d be able to use a landline to call for a tow truck…from somewhere. At the very least, he could let the El Paso folks know he’d likely be later than four.

He glanced at his watch. High noon. With any luck—and he’d be a fool to count on that—he could be up and running by two, and if he put the pedal to the metal, he might still make El Paso by five, with just enough time to close the deal and keep Wayne off his back.

Wishful thinking, but what else did he have going for him at the moment?

Grabbing the water bottle from the car, Cage tucked the folded map in his back pocket and struck out on foot. The desert was like an oven this time of day, and his shirt and hair were soon soaked with sweat.

He could feel the hot pavement burning through his boots, and the sight of a rattler sunning itself on the side of the road didn’t exactly improve his mood, nor did the circling buzzards overhead. He ignored the vultures and gave the snoozing snake a wide berth as he kept on walking.

By the time he arrived in San Miguel, a grimy little settlement of crumbling brick buildings and faded adobe houses, the blistering heat had sapped his energy and his bum knee felt as if someone had punched red-hot needles through the muscles.

As he hobbled down the baking sidewalk, Cage took note of the businesses—a pawn shop, a pool hall, a boarded-up gas station, two churches and up ahead, a post office, judging by the flags waving overhead. But no garage.

The main thoroughfare through town was paved, but dust swirled up like a cyclone as a black SUV with tinted windows sped by him. It was a late-model vehicle and expensive. Cage wondered what it was doing way out here in the middle of nowhere. But then, whoever was behind those tinted windows could be thinking the same thing about him.

An old red pickup truck pulled to the curb in front of the post office, and an attractive blonde in tight jeans and a pink T-shirt hopped out of the cab. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting her smooth, tanned complexion and the shimmering lip gloss that was the exact shade of her shirt.

She was young, but not so young that her lingering glance made Cage uneasy. She was probably in her early to midtwenties. Fair game if he’d been in the mood.

“Excuse me,” he said as he limped toward her.

“Well, hello.” She planted a hand on her blue-jeaned hip as she gave him an interested perusal. “Where did you come from, mister? We don’t get many strangers around here.”

“Just walked in from the desert,” Cage said, and tried to muster up a halfway friendly smile.

“I can believe that. No offense, hon, but you look like five miles of bad road. Better move into the shade before you keel over from heatstroke.”

He stepped under the awning that hung over the post office entrance. “I’ll be fine as soon as I find a phone,” he said. “Or a garage. Or preferably both.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she said as she lifted her arms to straighten her ponytail. The action tightened the thin cotton of her shirt across her breasts, which Cage was pretty sure she was well aware of. “Most any business along Main Street will let you use their phone and we happen to have a pretty good mechanic in town. And if you flash those dimples again…” She gave him a wink. “Somebody might even rustle you up a drink. You look like you could use one.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer.”

“I just bet you wouldn’t.” She gave him a knowing smile. “Well, then, you just head on up to Lester’s garage. You can’t miss it. It’ll be on your left, just past the beauty shop. Once you’re done there, have him point you in the direction of Del Fuego’s. Coldest beer in town.”

“Thanks.”

“You bet.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for another response. When Cage merely nodded, she shrugged. “See you around, stranger.” Then she headed into the post office without a backward glance.

Five minutes later, Cage stood in front of a dilapidated building with a dirt parking lot and a faded sign out front with moveable letters that had once spelled GARAGE. Now it read G RAGE.

It had occurred to Cage about two seconds after the blonde disappeared into the post office that she’d been angling for an invitation to join him for a drink. In another time, another place, he might have made the effort to set something up with her, but right now he had more pressing matters on his mind than taking a beautiful woman to bed.

Which just went to show how pathetically desperate he really was.

The smell of rubber and motor oil permeated the air as he walked up to the open bay and rang the bell mounted on the side of the wall.

After a few moments, a young man in greasy coveralls appeared in the doorway. “Help you?”

As Cage briefly explained the situation, the mechanic took off his cap and mopped the back of his neck with the same filthy rag he’d used to wipe his hands.

“Sounds like a busted radiator hose all right,” he said when Cage was finished.

Cage glanced at the car inside the garage. “I can probably fix it myself if you’re all tied up. All I need is a new hose.”

“I won’t have anything in stock that’ll fit that make and model. You’ll have to get it from the parts store.”

“Okay. Where’s that?”

“Nearest one is in Redford. That’s twenty miles east of here. I’m heading over there first thing in the morning for some brake pads. I can pick up a hose for you then if you want me to.”

“That won’t do me much good,” Cage said. “I need to be in El Paso no later than five o’clock today.”

Lester shook his head. “Sorry, mister, but you won’t be going anywhere with that busted radiator hose.”

He was right about that.

Mentally, Cage tallied up the cash he had on hand. “How much will it take to persuade you to make that trip to Redford today instead of in the morning?”

Lester seemed to consider the proposition for a moment, then shook his head. “I’d like to help you out, but I’m right in the middle of a transmission overhaul.”

“Fifty dollars,” Cage said. “That’ll pay your gas and then some for a trip you’re going to have to make anyway.”

“Like I said, I’d like to help you out and all, but I just don’t see how—”

“A hundred bucks.” That would take a big bite out of his wallet, but Cage didn’t see any other way around it. Besides, he had a company credit card he could always fall back on.

“All right. You got yourself a deal.” Lester tossed the rag into a rusted-out barrel and waited patiently while Cage counted out the money.

“Fifty now, fifty when you get back,” he said. “That okay with you?”

“Fair enough, I guess.” Lester stuffed the money in the back pocket of his coveralls. “Where can I find you when I get back?”

“You know of a place called Del Fuego’s?”

“Just down the street a ways. Not much to look at, but the beer’s always cold.”

“That’s what I hear,” Cage said.

BUT DEL FUEGO’S WENT well beyond not much to look at.

Hole in the wall was Cage’s first impression. The squat building with a flat roof and sagging wooden door reminded him of the places in Saigon his old man used to talk about.

Walk in for a drink, lucky you didn’t leave with your damn throat slit.

For all Cage knew, that story was just a load of crap like all the rest of the lies the old man used to spew. He probably hadn’t even left stateside during the Vietnam era.

Cage might have wondered if his father had actually been in the service, but he’d seen pictures of him in uniform. A handsome, smiling guy with sparkling white teeth and a full head of hair.

The man in those photographs bore little resemblance to the washed-up drunk who’d deserted his family when Cage was barely thirteen.

After a while, his mother had put away all those old pictures, but Cage had once heard her tell her sister that she still sometimes dreamed about his father, the way he’d been before Vietnam had turned him into a stranger. She still secretly hoped that man would someday come back to her.