Austin: Second Chance Cowboy. Shelley Galloway
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problem. Actually, the guy had looked as though he had more together than most folks.
Austin had copped an attitude when Jack had started talking about how the hour-long meetings had changed him. About how he’d meant every single word of that Serenity Prayer.
But long after Jack left, when no one was looking, Austin had put the card in his wallet. Just in case he was ever so weak to dial the number.
You mean brave, idiot, his conscience whispered.
“Yeah, I mean brave,” he said. He sat on the edge of his mattress, picked up the phone and made himself dial before he lost his nerve. Before he turned cowardly all over again.
Finally, it was time. Finally, he was ready to do what he’d been pussyfooting around for the past three years. He was going to get some help.
“Hello!”
“Hey, Jack—”
“I’m not available right now, but leave a message. I’ll call you back—I always do.”
Austin didn’t want to leave a message. But he wanted help more. Thinking of his father, and the way no one gave him a moment’s time, he forced himself to talk.
“Jack, it’s, uh… It’s Austin Wright. You gave me your number a couple of months ago when you stopped by my store. In case, you know, I ever wanted to talk to you. I guess I do. Call me back.” He left his cell-phone number and clicked off.
Then practically ran into the shower, needing to clean off last night’s trouble. And the doubts that were surfacing all over again.
Bracing himself for the pain, he stepped under the showerhead and turned on the water, taking the cold blast of H2O against his skin as rightful penance.
It was no less than he deserved.
* * *
“HEY, DINAH,” DUKE CALLED out. “What’s shaking?”
She laughed. It had taken a while, but she and her deputy, Duke Adams, finally had the sheriff’s office running smoothly. Actually, Duke was more than her deputy; he was also her cousin.
And her friend.
Truth was, Sheriff Dinah Hart needed Duke’s good humor to help her get through the days in Roundup. In their small town, they got all sorts of calls. Anything could happen—from letting people into their locked cars, to directing traffic on Sundays at noon when the folks got out of church, to their current project: figuring out who in the world was involved with the recent outbreak of thefts in the area.
“Not too much is shaking right now,” she said wearily. “I’m exhausted.”
“What kept you up this time?”
“Too much fun at the Open Range on the weekend.” She shared a look with Duke. And though there had been more than one man letting off too much steam at Roundup’s biggest bar, she let herself fixate on the one man she could never ignore. “I tell you what, sometimes I’m this close to wringing Austin Wright’s neck.”
Leaning against an old metal file cabinet, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s he done this time?”
“Nothing illegal, just made a mess of the place. Again.” Remembering her first call of the day, she shook her head. “Ted was fit to be tied when he called me bright and early this morning. Seems Austin puked his life out in the middle of the place on Saturday night.”
Duke cocked an eyebrow. As usual, his low-key way complemented her inclination toward drama. “Don’t see why he called you. Puking’s unpleasant, but last I heard, it wasn’t a crime.”
“It wasn’t just that. Two good old boys got in a fight about where a dart landed or some such nonsense. They broke a pair of chairs and seemed intent on getting their hands on those darts for darker reasons.”
Duke winced.
“Yeah. It got ugly.” She sighed. “But I think Ted would’ve dealt with it all on his own if I hadn’t just paid him a visit. Somehow I must have conveyed that truly no problem was too small for our department.”
“That sounds like something you’d do.”
“Actually, I think Ted just wanted someone to listen to him.”
Duke curved his lips up slightly. “And you did.”
Boy, had she. Shaking her head, she said, “Sorry, Duke. What you got?”
He slid a paper over her way. “Another missing bridle and saddle, this one a Silver Royal from the Neiman ranch.” Whistling low, he added, “Craig Neiman says it’s worth a grand. At least.”
Dinah knew the prices of some saddles. And though Silver Royal was a good brand, all saddles weren’t created the same.
A theft was always treated seriously, but she knew Craig Neiman had a propensity to exaggerate when he could.
She had an idea. “Look, how about I go visit with Austin and see if that estimate is correct? It’s a perfect excuse to pay him a call and give him a gentle reminder about behaving himself out in public.”
“While you do that, I’ll go visit with the Neimans. See how the rest of their tack looks.”
“Great. Call me if you need me to stop by, too.”
Duke nodded. “Sounds good.” Pausing on his way out, he looked back at her, his brown eyes full of brotherly concern. “You okay with seeing Austin? You’ve got some history there.”
“That history is as old as the dartboard at the Open Range. And as full of holes, too.”
Duke grinned at her reference, then sobered. “Just be careful you don’t get stuck with anything, D. Those darts can hurt like a son of a gun.”
So did a lot of things, she thought to herself as she grabbed her purse, her gun and a candy bar for good measure.
Experience had taught her that a bite from a Snickers bar could do a girl a world of good.
Even when seeing Austin Wright.
Chapter Two
No man should look as good as Austin Wright, Dinah decided.
Blessed with a dreamy pair of blue eyes, dark wavy hair and a striking resemblance to Blake Shelton, he’d stopped more than one girl in her tracks. A long time ago, she’d kissed him in the moonlight on the outskirts of town.
That kiss had been hot enough to make her step back in a hurry. And hot enough to make Austin smile just a little too darkly.
Though she’d surely kissed other men since—and Austin had done a whole lot more with a whole lot more girls—that kiss never failed to pop up in her memory whenever they crossed paths.
It was a real shame, too.
“Hey, Dinah,” he said as she stepped into his shop, Wright’s Western Wear and Tack. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. You need something?”
Oh, that drawl! She blinked, and before she knew it, she was smoothing her left hand down the front of her tan sheriff’s shirt.
“No. I’m not here to shop.”
“Oh?” Gone went that teasing glint in his eyes. “What do you need?”
His voice was low. Gravelly and cool. And it affected her like it always had—with a zing right to her middle.
With effort, she opened up her spiral notebook and pretended to study her notes so he wouldn’t see her expression.
And so she wouldn’t start thinking about his blue eyes. And the way he did love to wear those Wranglers of his just a little low and a little tight. “I did come in here for something.”
“What?”
Lifting her