Cowboy Courage. Judy Duarte

worry about her. She’ll be a perfect wife.

      Lauren’s head had pounded, and her throat constricted. She’d held the phone to her ear until well after Daniel and Denise had hung up, her fingers clutching the cold receiver in a death grip until she heard water run in the upstairs shower.

      And that’s when she’d felt the urge to break something, to throw a temper tantrum that would make a spoiled rich child proud.

      The roar of a semi barreling down the interstate drew Lauren back to the present, and a rumble in her stomach reminded her why she needed to stop.

      Up ahead, she spotted a rundown gas station, the kind she’d seen in old black-and-white movies. A red, restored Chevy pickup parked in front of one of the old pumps added to the nostalgic ambiance.

      Lauren clicked on the blinker and checked the rearview mirror before swerving onto the unpaved parking lot. Gravel crunched under her tires and dirt swirled like the first stirrings of the tornado that landed Dorothy in Oz. When the dust settled, she adjusted her sunglasses and surveyed the 1950s surroundings.

      Cole McAdams placed the nozzle of the gasoline pump into the tank of his ’53 Chevy, then crossed his arms and leaned against the vintage truck. A white, late-model Ford Expedition pulled in beside him, and he watched a tall, willowy blonde emerge.

      Model-thin, with a sophisticated air, she wore tight-fitting jeans that hugged narrow hips. A big brass clip held her golden hair in a twist. Dark glasses hid her eyes.

      A classy lady. And definitely out of place in a small Texas town like Tannen.

      When she disappeared into the filling-station office, Cole turned his attention to her sports utility vehicle.

      Nice set of wheels, and fully loaded, no doubt. He glanced at the out-of-state plates. California. That didn’t surprise him.

      Cole replaced the pump and twisted the cap back on his tank. The wind hit the brim of his Stetson, and he adjusted the hat more securely on his head. The rain wasn’t far off and, most likely, would turn into a gully washer. A flash flood warning was in effect, and if the sky was any indication, the boys down at the weather station had called it right.

      He reached for the door handle, just as the blonde stepped from the building, opening a road map while she walked. Yep, definitely out of place. And probably lost.

      She studied the unfolded sheet while making her way toward the Expedition. A gust of wind caught the paper from her hand and, like a kite out of control, the map flew from her grasp.

      Cole wasn’t sure why he went to her aid. He didn’t harbor any unusual sense of gallantry, but the poor thing looked on the verge of tears. He snagged the wayward map and returned it to her.

      “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and caressing.

      Where was she headed? Where had she been? He quickly dismissed the curiosity. What did he care? She was a stranger, for Pete’s sake. And on her way down the road. Yet he couldn’t help but offer some minor assistance. “Need directions?”

      It seemed like a dumb question, even to Cole and, for some crazy reason, he hoped she didn’t think he was a backwoods cowboy. She looked carefully at him, albeit through dark lenses.

      Assessing his trustworthiness, Cole assumed. Still, he wondered about her, too. Like what color eyes those sunglasses hid. And what secrets those eyes held inside.

      “Where’s the nearest hotel?” she asked.

      Hotel? In this town? He stifled a laugh. “Up the interstate about twenty miles you’ll find a few cheap motels.”

      She nodded as though one of those roadside places would suffice, but he doubted she’d ever experienced anything that wasn’t expensive. Her appearance and bearing gave evidence of a wealthy lifestyle. She offered another smile that produced only a single dimple. A man could look forward to making her smile, just to see it.

      He chastised himself. This woman was none of his business, nor his concern. He had enough problems of his own, and he sure as hell didn’t need to be thinking about her in any manner other than sending her on her way.

      She started toward her vehicle, then paused and turned back to him. “Is there a restaurant nearby?”

      He nodded, not sure whether she’d consider the Long Shot a restaurant. “There’s a little hole-in-the-wall just down the road. The atmosphere is lousy, and it’s more of a bar than a diner, but the food is good. Otherwise, you won’t find anything else for the next twenty miles or so.”

      “Thanks.” She flashed him another one-dimpled smile and filled her tank.

      Cole stood beside his truck and watched until she drove off. Hell, he almost wished he could have done more for her. Then he slowly shook his head and climbed into his truck.

      There wasn’t a damn thing Cole McAdams could offer a woman like her.

      After pulling onto the highway, Lauren began to search the roadside, trying to find the restaurant the man at the gas station had told her about. She really wasn’t particular. Not today.

      Up ahead, a pink neon sign flickered on and off, proclaiming that the Long Shot Bar & Grill had Dang Good Food.

      In front of the wood-slatted building, a worn-out Plymouth rested between two pickups, one red and the other a calico combination of rust, turquoise blue and primer gray. He’d called the place a hole-in-the-wall. And he was right. But what did she expect to find in the middle of nowhere?

      When Lauren reached across the console for her purse, she discovered the edge of a large, yellow envelope nearly hidden between the seats. It must belong to Daniel. He’d used her car last. She withdrew the envelope and, when she noticed Denise’s flowery script on the front, her heart twisted.

      Daniel, I’d rather these be in your records.

      Lauren grimaced. Obviously, Daniel hadn’t expected her to trade cars so early, to arrive at the home they would soon share just as the phone rang. To pick up the downstairs telephone as he answered upstairs.

      She fingered the sealed flap, flicking her thumb along the edge. She’d always had the utmost respect for a person’s privacy, but curiosity got the best of her. She wanted to know the contents, even if it caused her further pain. Of course, she’d have plenty of time to read while she ate.

      Lauren slipped the envelope into her oversized gym bag and grabbed her purse. Slinging both straps, one bulky and wide, the other fashionable and narrow, over her shoulder, she slammed the car door, then strode to the entrance of the Long Shot.

      The melodic sound of a steel guitar grew louder as she neared the front steps, and when she opened the door, a bell tinkled, alerting a short, stocky bartender and a gray-haired waitress of her arrival. Both eyed her briefly before returning their attention to a couple in the corner booth. Lauren couldn’t help but follow their gaze to an angry man clad in a white T-shirt and jeans and his sad-eyed female companion, but another grumble in her stomach quelled her curiosity as well as her awareness of the dingy room and the scent of stale tobacco.

      Instead of a table, she chose a seat at the bar, next to a television with the volume turned down. The music from an old red-and-chrome jukebox filled the room.

      “What’ll ya have?” the balding bartender asked, his hooded eyes still glued to the corner booth.

      “Ice tea,” she answered. “And a menu, please.”

      “Sure.” The bartender furrowed his brow, all the while staring at the couple. He reached beneath the counter and slapped a worn, food-stained menu in front of Lauren.

      “Damn it, Kerri-Leigh,” a gruff male voice bellowed, loud and belligerent. “Don’t go tellin’ me what to do. I’m not ready to leave.” Then he hollered at the bartender. “Ben, bring me another beer.”

      Unable to help herself, Lauren stole another look at the couple. She studied the woman with the stringy blond hair.