Melissa Cutler - Cowboy Justice

He never once brought up Vaughn. None of the deputies did, for that matter. Save for the name plaque on his office door, it was as though he’d ceased to exist.

When Stratis released Rachel at a few minutes to five o’clock, she nearly stopped by Irene’s desk to ask after Vaughn’s whereabouts. She simply couldn’t reconcile the idea that he’d heard about what she was going through and had chosen not to check on her. But Stratis was on her heels, walking her to the front door, so she kept moving.

In the parking lot, she climbed into her stuffy truck and rolled the windows down. She sat, at a loss of where to go or what to do. What she really needed was wide-open space, but the places she’d always found solace in reminded her of her father. If she went to her house, she’d have to deal with her sisters, and she didn’t have the strength for that yet.

She started the truck’s engine and cruised down the main road. Old habits died hard; and she couldn’t help but scan for Vaughn’s truck or squad car in every parking lot she passed. Three blocks down, Smithy’s Bar came into view. No evidence of Vaughn in the lot, but she turned in to the parking area anyway.

She needed the company of Catcher Creek locals like she needed a hole in the head, but a cold beer might be nice. And Smithy’s had a pay phone out back if she worked up enough courage to call Vaughn out on his neglect of her.

The air inside the bar was cool and smelled of cleaning products and spilled beer. A Merle Haggard song poured from the jukebox in the dark corner to her left. The place was crowded, being after normal workday hours on a Friday. Rachel squeezed onto a bar stool between two older men she didn’t recognize, hoping no one would bother to notice her except Gloria, the bartender.

After a few minutes, Gloria worked her way and sailed a cardboard coaster in front of her. “The usual, hon?”

“That’ll do. Thanks.”

She tapped the coaster on its side against the bar and kept her head down while she waited, hoping to avoid catching anyone’s eye.

Gloria returned with a bottle of beer, but instead of setting it down and leaving, she lingered. “Surprised to see you here, Rachel.”

Rachel set her hand on the cold glass bottle and looked at Gloria’s overdone face and bouncy, peroxide blond hair.

“Why’s that?” Rachel asked, too grumpy for small talk.

Gloria arched one of her drawn-in brows. “Because of what happened today with Sheriff Cooper’s family. We all figured you’d be consoling him. Are you two on the outs?”

Rachel sat up straighter. “What happened to his family? Is someone hurt?”

“Only their pride,” Gloria said.

“Tell me what happened. Please. I didn’t know.”

She got a saucy twinkle in her eye that turned Rachel’s stomach. “Early this morning, the Tucumcari police raided his parents’ house. It was all over the news. They arrested his sister and both his parents on shoplifting and drug charges.”

Gossip like that was too horrific to be true. Even still, her hand itched with the urge to slap Gloria, she sounded so gleeful at the revelation. “That can’t be right.”

Then she thought about Vaughn’s contentious rivalry with Chief Meyer and the possibility didn’t seem so outlandish.

“My cousin lives on his parents’ block,” Gloria said. “She told me the sheriff had to be restrained when they took his mother away in cuffs.”

Oh, hell. Lightheaded and entertaining the possibility of being sick to her stomach, she pushed off the stool.

“That’s enough, Gloria.”

Rachel whipped her head around to see Kate Parrish standing, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression livid.

“Is Gloria right? Vaughn’s parents . . .”

Kate nodded.

“Told you,” Gloria said.

Refusing to look in Gloria’s direction, Rachel reached into her front pocket for her coin purse. Every cell in her body screamed with the need to get to him, to throw her arms around him, and forget the cruel world they lived in.

Kate set her hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’ve got your beer. Go to him.”

Rachel searched Kate’s expression, expecting malice, but saw only the friend Kate had always been to her before that week. “Why would you help me?”

Remorse flickered across her features. “Jealousy is a funny beast, you know?” She nodded toward the door with a sad smile. “Get out of here.”

“Thank you.” She took off in a fast walk for the door. She’d have to process Kate’s turn-of-mood some other time. Right now, her mind didn’t have room for anything else but Vaughn.

She parked across the street from his house and shut the engine down. His truck sat at the curb, his patrol car in the driveway. Now that she was here, she was chickening out. Maybe he didn’t want to see her. She wasn’t sure she could bear that. The only thing she ever had that was all hers was Vaughn, and their damaged, pain-filled connection to each other. If he turned her away, she wouldn’t have anything left in the world to hold on to.

The blinds in his exercise room were closed, but with the falling shadows of late afternoon, a faint glow of light was visible behind the blinds. The metal knocker on the blue front door was rusty and falling apart, but he’d explained to her that he’d never replace it because his parents had gifted him with it when he bought the place. It had been the door knocker on his grandparents’ Texas farm. His work boots sat on the porch, and she could just make out the stuffing in his roof from the sparrows that wintered there, and that he didn’t have the heart to evict. Outgoing mail had been clipped to the front of his mailbox with a clothespin.

The longer she sat and stared at his place, the deeper into loneliness and longing she sank. He had this full, rich, moment-to-moment life that she wasn’t a part of, and it hurt, knowing that. Every day he woke up and worked out and went through the motions of his day—without her.

Tonight, at least, she knew on an instinctive level he needed her as much as she needed him. But it scared her to death that maybe her instincts were wrong about that, as they had been with everything else.

So what? So what if he rejected her. If she got to the point where there was nothing in her life, then at least she’d know she’d finally hit the bottom of the well. She slid out of her truck, locked up, and crossed the street.

Three concrete steps and she was eye-to-eye with his door knocker.

She rang the doorbell. Hugging herself, she fought to ignore how vulnerable it felt to stand there, waiting for his judgment.

Footsteps on his hardwood floor preceded the rattle of the deadbolt.

He opened the door dressed in a gray T-shirt drenched in sweat, blue nylon workout shorts, and sneakers. The shirt clung to the muscles beneath, outlining the hard points of his nipples. A white towel was slung over his shoulder.

His expression was dark and despairing. Absolutely lost. He took a deep breath through his mouth.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything, or invite her in, she hugged herself tighter. “I heard what happened to your family.”

He gave a terse nod, the line of his jaw rippling as though he were clenching his teeth.

“I had a bad day too. And I need . . .” She raised her eyes to the eaves. Christ, could she feel any more pathetic? “I need you tonight.”

He must have known what it cost her to say that because, after a beat of hesitation, he opened the door all the way and moved aside to allow her entrance.

She closed and locked the door, then stood against it.

As wretched as she felt, he looked even worse. He had yet to say a word, but she read the hurt and need in his eyes plain enough. She wanted to give herself over to him, to be the balm for his troubles as he’d been to hers once upon a time. Gripping her shirt at the hem, she tugged it over her head and tossed it aside.

His expression remained unchanged, save for the flaring of his nostrils and the curling of his hands into fists.

She doffed her boots and socks next, lining them up along the wall next to the door. Holding his gaze, she worked the snap and zipper of her jeans. They dropped to the ground and she kicked them toward his sofa.

Her undergarments were black cotton, simple and functional. Maybe he wished she weren’t so ordinary. She’d wager that the other women in town jockeying for his attention wore silky, lace lingerie, but all she had to offer was herself. And fancy underwear wasn’t who she was. She hoped, tonight, she’d be enough.

He stared at her body, taking slow, silent stock of her breasts, then stomach, then legs.

She was greedy to see the physique hidden beneath his clothes, so when he didn’t make a move to undress, she reached for his shirt.

His left hand snapped from his side and locked around her wrist. She gasped, surprised.

Stepping into her, he pinned her wrist near her ear, pinned her body flat against the door with his own. His right hand splayed over her hip and he pressed his forehead to hers. His breath was shallow, his eyes closed tight. Though his mouth brushed hers with a feather-light touch, he did not kiss the parted lips she offered.

His body was cold sweat, all male. The burgeoning length of his arousal beneath the flimsy nylon shorts grew harder, pushing into her stomach. She cupped his jaw and stroked the stubble of his cheek with her thumb. Reckless, incinerating need blazed through her body. Not the need for sexual release, nor comfort, but for connection with the one man she’d ever loved. For a glimpse into the life with him she’d been denied, the happiness she’d wanted so badly she’d let it burn her.

His breath fanned over her face, and she detected a hint of cigarette smoke, a scent that took her back to their original affair. Knowing what she did about the hurt he’d suffered today, it was an easy guess as to why he’d fallen off the wagon with his addiction. Wasn’t that the same reason that had compelled her to his door tonight? Allowing her pain to justify giving in to impulse, to the thing she needed despite all the reasons it was bad for her.

With quickened breath, she arched into him, clutching his head with her hands, her mouth reaching for his.

He evaded her efforts, turning his face to nuzzle the side of her head with his nose. But then the hand gripping her wrist slid up, his palm over her palm. She curled her fingers down over his hand, twining her hand with his.

And it was like something snapped inside her.

Her whole life, everything she wanted, everything she tried for, she never got any of it. She never got her father’s attention or love, and didn’t even have a real understanding of the man he’d turned out to be. And she’d failed to grow into a successful farmer like her grandparents had been. To sustain something for herself and her family. To breathe the air in a field of grass and know it belonged to her.

She didn’t have Vaughn’s love either, at least in any real way that made him care enough to fight for her. But tonight he’d accepted her into his house and he held her hand like he loved her back. Exactly how she needed to be loved.

Her throat tightened with the surge of a sob. She was powerless to stop the welling of moisture in her eyes or a rogue tear from escaping down her cheek. Goddamn, she felt raw.

She drew a labored breath that quaked and stuttered in her throat. Vaughn opened his eyes, concern registering in them.

Please don’t ask me why I’m crying. Don’t make me speak the pain aloud. And whatever you do, please don’t let go of me.

He didn’t. He swiped her tear away with his finger. Clutching even tighter to the hand he held, he angled his lips over hers and took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss.

Vaughn just wanted to look at her. He wanted to gaze on something beautiful, and God, Rachel’s beauty awed him. That someone like her wanted him was astounding, humbling. She was too pretty to touch, standing in his entryway in her bra and panties. All he could do was drink her in.

He was so fucked up in pain tonight. He’d failed his family, he’d failed Rachel. And what he was doing right now—laying his hands on her body, deliberating which part of her to put his mouth on next—that was the failure of his integrity as a sheriff. Having failed at everything, he was just a man now. A fucked-up, scared, failure of a man.

Never once had he done a thing right by Rachel, but she’d come to him anyway tonight. She’d undressed for him, the tenderness in her eyes slaying his soul. Had she any idea what she did to him when she looked at him like she loved him? Then she let him touch her, and when she cried, all he could think was, here in his arms was the toughest, most capable person he knew, and she trusted him enough to let him see her cry.