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He was tempted to ask her what she’d been doing on the Rimrock side of the creek, but he had a feeling she would either lie or shut down and refuse to talk to him at all. As for asking her whether she’d really murdered Ferg Prescott’s father, that would open a whole different can of worms.
He glanced at her firm yet delicate profile and small, work-worn hands. Not that it was his business, but so far he could hardly believe Rose was capable of killing anybody, especially the large man that Ferg’s father must’ve been. She was like a feisty, little brown-eyed cat, so vulnerable that he felt an awakening urge to protect her.
Not that he was capable of protecting anybody. He’d already proven that to himself, his family, and the town he only wanted to forget. That was one reason he’d chosen to be here in Texas, rounding up cattle thieves instead of putting away wanted criminals in Wyoming.
* * *
They were coming into Blanco Springs now, passing the Blue Coyote, the movie theater, the dry goods store, and the Burger Shack. Rose could see the gas station and garage on the corner, partway up the street.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” she said as Tanner pulled into a parking space at the side of the building. “I can handle this.”
“I get it that you want to,” he said. “But I’ll hang around all the same. You might need a ride home, and for me, it beats going back to work.”
When she shot him a glare, he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Fine.” Clearly, he didn’t think she was capable of buying her own vehicle. She was aware that car dealers viewed women as suckers and tended to take advantage of them. But Ramón had taught her about cars, how to maintain and repair them, and how to tell a sound vehicle from a limón. And eleven years in Mexico had taught her how to haggle and bargain like a pro. She could do this.
She was tugging at the stubborn seat belt buckle when he came around to her side of the truck and opened the door.
“Here, I’ve got it.” He leaned in and reached across her lap. His head brushed her breast as he found the release button and clicked the buckle open. The contact sent a jolt through her body. She didn’t like being touched in an intimate spot—not even accidentally. It stirred too many bad memories—the man who’d moved in with her mother when she was ten, the foster home she’d run away from, and more recently the swaggering goons who’d taken over Río Seco and abused every female they could get their hands on.
She climbed out of the truck, ignoring the arm he offered. “Stay here,” she said, and strode around the corner of the building to the front.
A big-bellied man in greasy coveralls was working on a Jeep in the open garage. He straightened, his stubbled face breaking into a grin as he saw her.
“Well now.” His eyes looked her up and down, making her cringe inside. “What can I do for you, little lady?”
Rose squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height. “I was told you might have some used vehicles for sale,” she said in a chilly voice. “I’m looking for a pickup truck. One with a camper would be best, but I’ll look at whatever you’ve got.”
His gap-toothed grin broadened. “I’d be happy to show you what I’ve got.” The bastard actually winked. “But I reckon you’ll want to see the trucks first. Come on, they’re out back.”
Reminding herself how much she needed something to drive, Rose followed the man out the back door of the garage. Half a dozen vehicles stood in a weedy yard cluttered with old tires and parts, surrounded by a sagging chain-link fence.
“I take ’em on commission,” the man said. “Since it’s the only car lot in town, I do a pretty good business here. Take a look.”
He stepped aside to let her walk forward. Two of the vehicles had been wrecked and were probably being sold for parts. There was a flatbed farm truck, a work van, and a truck with a tow rig attached. None of those would do her. But her heart skipped when she saw the last truck. An older red Ford pickup, showing some dings and wear, with a small camper on the back.
Rose could sense the man watching her as she looked it over. She willed herself to ignore him. This truck would be perfect if it ran decently and if she could get it for a good price. “Can I start it up?” she asked.
“I can do it for you. Is this a present for your boyfriend?”
Why did he have to make this so difficult? “Just get the key,” Rose said. “I’m buying it for myself—if I buy it.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” He stepped into his office and came back with a set of keys on a worn leather fob. “The brass one’s for the camper,” he said.
“I figured as much.” Rose took the keys and climbed into the cab. The truck started on the first try, the engine running smooth and true. Rose revved the gas pedal and felt the quick response. Against her better judgment, she was falling in love.
After popping the hood lever, she climbed out of the running truck and felt beneath the hood for the release.
“I can do that,” the man said.
“I’ll do it.” She propped the hood open while she looked underneath. So far, so good.
“How much?” she asked, still peering under the hood.
“Ten thousand.”
Her heart sank. “For cash, on the spot? How much?”
