time.
Or at least I was hoping so. I sure didn’t need to be shooting myself in the foot over him again.
The sound of the doorbell dinging snapped me out of my reverie. I thought about ignoring whoever it was, but then the buzzer rang again.
This was the exact reason I lived in the boondocks. Unexpected company sucked balls, and right now I heard the one thing I dreaded most before I’d even had time to tinkle or drink a cup of coffee—boots clomping up and down my front porch, heralding unwanted company. I figured I’d get down there before whoever it was had a chance to ring the bell a third time.
Flinging back the comforter, I slid into my bunny slippers, slung a bathrobe over my sheer beige nightie, and padded downstairs. I tiptoed around the banister, trying to sneak a peek at my guest through the living room’s bay window. I was able to make out the side view of a cowboy hat, which could belong to just about anybody. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the front door and squinted through the peephole.
Crunching gnats on my doormat, wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, jeans, and his trademark gray cowboy boots was none other than that pesky federal marshal, Colt Larsen. I checked the clock above the mantle. Eight thirty.
“I told you to meet me at the station at ten,” I said loudly through the door.
He waved a plastic bag and two Styrofoam cups in front of the peephole. “You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, would you?” he hollered back, still hanging on to that wide I-could-screw-your-wife-and-have-you-thanking-me-for-doing-it-afterward grin.
I slid back the chain, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled open the door. “How did you know where I lived?” I asked, securing my robe tightly against my chest.
“Pearl Tompkins down at the Filler-Up was kind enough to point me in the right direction.”
“ Pearl told you?” I said, making sure I heard him correctly. Pearl Tompkins wasn’t known for her benevolence or chattiness.
“Yeah. I just asked, and she told me.” He smiled, clearly proud of himself.
He tried to step inside, but I slung an arm across the threshold and leaned a shoulder into the doorframe, blocking his advance. “And you just thought it would be a great idea to hop on over and say hello?” I snuck myself a peek inside the plastic bag. “Did it not occur to you that if I didn’t want to get in your Jeep last night, then I definitely wouldn’t want you at my house this morning?”
He smiled and shoved past me, stopping in the middle of my living room; his eyes immediately landed on the clothes and couch cushions tossed about the floor. He stood by my coffee table and grunted in amusement before saying anything. “The difference between last night and this morning is that I have something to offer you now,” he said, handing the Filler-Up bag to me. “Would you like a doughnut? Some coffee to get you going? Or both, Deputy Briggs?” Colt threw me a knee-buckling wink as he lifted the goodies to eye level. I ignored the wink and sighed. “I myself enjoy a powdered doughnut as much as the next guy.”
It sucked how much I was a pushover. I snatched the doughnuts and a coffee from his hands. “Give me five minutes, and we’re out of here.” I took a sip of coffee as I headed toward the stairs.
“By the way, where are we heading?” he asked, bracing a hip against the banister.
I crammed half a doughnut in my mouth. “Where else,” I said, then laughed through a mouthful of food, “but the picturesque Horseshoe Trailer Park.”
He raised a brow. “‘Picturesque’? That word must mean something different out here in west Texas.” He kicked away from the banister. “Because, darling, down on the coast, the trailer parks are where the bottom-feeders hang out.”
He really needed to be given the scenic tour of Pistol Rock. I tipped my chin back at him. “I know. Why do you think we’re heading over there? Now, take a seat and find something to
Or at least I was hoping so. I sure didn’t need to be shooting myself in the foot over him again.
The sound of the doorbell dinging snapped me out of my reverie. I thought about ignoring whoever it was, but then the buzzer rang again.
This was the exact reason I lived in the boondocks. Unexpected company sucked balls, and right now I heard the one thing I dreaded most before I’d even had time to tinkle or drink a cup of coffee—boots clomping up and down my front porch, heralding unwanted company. I figured I’d get down there before whoever it was had a chance to ring the bell a third time.
Flinging back the comforter, I slid into my bunny slippers, slung a bathrobe over my sheer beige nightie, and padded downstairs. I tiptoed around the banister, trying to sneak a peek at my guest through the living room’s bay window. I was able to make out the side view of a cowboy hat, which could belong to just about anybody. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the front door and squinted through the peephole.
Crunching gnats on my doormat, wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, jeans, and his trademark gray cowboy boots was none other than that pesky federal marshal, Colt Larsen. I checked the clock above the mantle. Eight thirty.
“I told you to meet me at the station at ten,” I said loudly through the door.
He waved a plastic bag and two Styrofoam cups in front of the peephole. “You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, would you?” he hollered back, still hanging on to that wide I-could-screw-your-wife-and-have-you-thanking-me-for-doing-it-afterward grin.
I slid back the chain, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled open the door. “How did you know where I lived?” I asked, securing my robe tightly against my chest.
“Pearl Tompkins down at the Filler-Up was kind enough to point me in the right direction.”
“ Pearl told you?” I said, making sure I heard him correctly. Pearl Tompkins wasn’t known for her benevolence or chattiness.
“Yeah. I just asked, and she told me.” He smiled, clearly proud of himself.
He tried to step inside, but I slung an arm across the threshold and leaned a shoulder into the doorframe, blocking his advance. “And you just thought it would be a great idea to hop on over and say hello?” I snuck myself a peek inside the plastic bag. “Did it not occur to you that if I didn’t want to get in your Jeep last night, then I definitely wouldn’t want you at my house this morning?”
He smiled and shoved past me, stopping in the middle of my living room; his eyes immediately landed on the clothes and couch cushions tossed about the floor. He stood by my coffee table and grunted in amusement before saying anything. “The difference between last night and this morning is that I have something to offer you now,” he said, handing the Filler-Up bag to me. “Would you like a doughnut? Some coffee to get you going? Or both, Deputy Briggs?” Colt threw me a knee-buckling wink as he lifted the goodies to eye level. I ignored the wink and sighed. “I myself enjoy a powdered doughnut as much as the next guy.”
It sucked how much I was a pushover. I snatched the doughnuts and a coffee from his hands. “Give me five minutes, and we’re out of here.” I took a sip of coffee as I headed toward the stairs.
“By the way, where are we heading?” he asked, bracing a hip against the banister.
I crammed half a doughnut in my mouth. “Where else,” I said, then laughed through a mouthful of food, “but the picturesque Horseshoe Trailer Park.”
He raised a brow. “‘Picturesque’? That word must mean something different out here in west Texas.” He kicked away from the banister. “Because, darling, down on the coast, the trailer parks are where the bottom-feeders hang out.”
He really needed to be given the scenic tour of Pistol Rock. I tipped my chin back at him. “I know. Why do you think we’re heading over there? Now, take a seat and find something to
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