Lucky In Love

He closed the door behind himself, removed his cowboy hat and entered. He sank into the old sofa and placed his hat on his lap. Tag coiled into a ball at his feet and started to snore.

Jordan curled into the armchair, smoothing down her tee shirt and tucking her feet under her legs. “Do you always wear your hat?” she asked. She thought it unusual for someone to be wearing a cowboy hat in the middle of the night.

The question must have struck him funny because his head tilted in question and then he laughed. “I’m rarely without my hat.”

“Oh.” He was grinning; a lopsided smile that was both sexy and roguish. His green eyes twinkled with mischief. She told him about the crashing sounds outside and the beam of light that came through the window. “I saw a truck speeding away and then the phone rang and it was a crank call. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

Wyatt nodded. “The garbage cans are scattered on the ground out by the barn.”

She leaned forward. “You said you saw a truck driving by your house. You didn’t happen to recognize it, did you?”

He shook his head. “It’s dark. I’m not positive, but I have a pretty good idea who it was.”

“Who?”

“It looked like there was a dent in the side. I think the truck belongs to a man named Joe Campbell. I’ve seen it around town.”

Jordan’s eyes enlarged. “He was one of the men in the café this afternoon. He and another guy were watching my every move. Cole told me they work for Addison Stillwell. And, I know all about Mr. Stillwell.”

Wyatt homed in on the other man. “Cole? You mean Cole Roberts?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

He chuckled. “Sure, I know him. Tulie’s a very small town, Jordan.”

He’d gotten familiar with her fast—kept using her first name like they were old friends—but for some reason, she didn’t mind. She liked the way he said her name. He had a slow drawl that was pretty sexy.

“So, you struck up a conversation with Cole Roberts in the café?” he wanted to know.

“Well, he talked to me first. I was just being polite.”

“Sure. All the pretty ladies are polite to Cole.”

Jordan squared her jaw. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothin’. I just never see Cole Roberts talking to any ugly women, that’s all.”

She had to bite back a grin. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I don’t mean anything by it, Jordan. Forget I said it.” He tossed his hand into the air. “Now, let’s get back to these men you said were watching you in the café. One was white, one was Mexican?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Good guess.”

“Okay…” Her voice trailed off. She wondered if he’d walked by the window and seen her in the café. “Anyway, Cole said their names were Joe Campbell and Cinnamon something.”

“Cimarron.” Wyatt corrected her with a deep laugh. “Joe Campbell and Cimarron Cruz. They’re a couple of petty criminals. Worth less than the crap on the bottom of my boots.” He leaned forward and delved deep into her eyes. “Stillwell didn’t waste any time, and he hasn’t even introduced himself to you yet.”

“I’ve only been in town for a day,” she reminded him. The intensity of his electric green eyes stirred something within her. She shifted her feet under her bottom, and felt naked under his scrutiny.

“I think the pranks tonight were just a teaser for what’s to come,” Wyatt said. “Stillwell’s played this game before. It might not be long before he makes a personal house call.”

“That’s exactly what Cole said!”

“Is that so? I guess great minds think alike.” He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other knee.

“Seems that way.”

His eyes traveled to her tee shirt and down to her bare knees. Jordan suddenly became very aware of the way she was dressed—or rather, not dressed. She wondered how noticeable her breasts were beneath her sleep shirt. As if on cue, her nipples became erect. She crossed her arms over her chest like a protective shield.

Wyatt blinked and looked away, but not before his lips split into a grin.

Jordan felt her cheeks flame. At least he could pretend not to notice.

“They won’t be back tonight,” he said with confidence. Slapping his knees and twisting his neck to look into the kitchen, he changed the subject. “Got any coffee on the stove?”

Jordan’s mouth gaped. It was a little audacious—inviting himself to stay for coffee—even if she’d had any on the stove. They barely knew each other and it was late. It probably wasn’t smart of her to have invited him in this time of night anyway. But, a feeling hinted her neighbor was one of the good guys.

“Nope,” she answered pleasantly. “This café’s closed for the night.”

“I’ll take a rain check then,” he replied with a smile. Rising from the sofa, he plopped his hat on his head and bent down to rouse the sleeping dog. “Come on, Tag. Let’s go before we wear out our welcome.”