The Sheriff's Secret Wife Read online

  Nowadays, only one man made her feel anything, and at the moment it was pure loathing. And to get back at that man, Chase Cartwright would be perfect for what she had in mind.

  "Do you think he'd be up for a little fun?"

  "Why? What are you planning?"

  She nodded toward the bar. "I think it's time for another Racy Special."

  "Are you serious? You haven't done one in months after that last guy—ewww! That was not fun to watch."

  "I swore that one was going to be my last, but something's come up—anyway, my tip jar is getting low." Racy slipped a folded bill into Maggie's hand. "Here, give this to your brother-in-law and explain how it works, okay? I don't want to take his money."

  "Why do I get the feeling this has to do with Gage?"

  "Because you're too smart for your own good." Racy grinned. "Go on, your family's waiting. And be nice to your waitress. She's new."

  Maggie eyed the young girl at their table. "She looks familiar."

  "That's Gina Steele." Racy grabbed the microphone from behind the bar.

  "Gage's sister? The whiz kid?"

  "That's her."

  "First his sister—" Maggie waved at the bar "—and now this? I thought you said Gage hasn't been in here in a while."

  "I said I haven't seen him here."

  "There's a difference?"

  "Yes."

  "You know, I'm going to ply you with margaritas at my bachelorette party to get the whole scoop on this," Maggie whispered, then turned and headed for her fiancé.

  Yeah, like she was going to spill how too much booze and an old dream had caused her to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  Racy locked down any Vegas memories before they could surface. A trick she was getting pretty good at lately.

  She brushed a hand against the trophy, a physical reminder of what really mattered. A quick yank on a few well-placed bobby pins, and her hair fell past her shoulders. She whispered her plans to her fellow bartender and, thanks to a step stool and the vertical cooler, stood on the L-shaped bar.

  A piercing whistle got everyone's attention. She rarely got up here anymore, preferring to stick to choreographing the Belles' dance routines.

  Tonight was different. With her back to the balcony, she couldn't see the man who technically had been her husband for the last five months, but her skin tingled.

  He was watching.

  "Welcome to The Blue Creek!" She addressed the crowd and they cheered. "It might be cold and snowy outside, but it's hot in here. And while the band is taking a well-earned break, I think it's time we raise the heat!"

  Ignoring the surprised looks from her waitresses, Racy waved to the girls who made up the dance team. The cheers from the crowd grew when they joined her on the bar. "It's time for a down-home boot stomping!"

  The music started and Racy fell into the familiar steps. She dipped and stomped and grabbed Willie's tattered straw cowboy hat, plopping it right on her head.

  Exaggerating the curve of her hips, she turned to face the shadowed balcony, the hat low over her eyes to conceal the direction of her stare. The short end of the bar was hers alone and she made good use of the space.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pictured Gage's blue eyes turning a stormy indigo like they did when he got angry. Or turned on. It was part of the ever-growing collection of memories that continued to haunt her.

  One of her favorites was the two of them on the dance floor. Their bodies so close she felt the outline of every hard muscle. His hands clenched her hips as she moved against him, never breaking eye contact. Song after song, until he pulled her off the dance floor and into a dark alcove. The width of his shoulders blocked the outside world, the wide brim of his Stetson created a private canopy as he pressed her against the wall with a kiss that stole her breath.

  The music ended and the bar erupted in thunderous applause. Racy bowed, and blamed the wild beating of her heart on the dancing as she handed Willie back his hat.

  "Let's hear it for the Blue Creek Belles!" She huffed into the microphone, pushing the words past her dry throat.

  One down. One to go.

  "Ya'll enjoy that?" She was rewarded with cheers while her girls got down from the bar. "I bet ya'll have worked up a mighty thirst. I know I did."

  She motioned to Jackie, who recognized the hand signal. Seconds later, a shot glass filled with a golden liquid was handed to her. To the crowd it was tequila. To Racy it was ice-cold apple juice and not nearly enough to quench her thirst.

  She tossed it back, took a deep breath and, for a moment, questioned if she was doing the right thing.

  But she couldn't back out now.

  * * *

  Gage knew what was coming.

  Hell, he was still trying to recover from her dancing. Every bump and grind of her hips brought back to life the hours he'd spent with her. The same red waves he'd buried his face in flew over her shoulders and skimmed across her naked back. The dark blue fringe of her top brushed against the toned stomach he'd covered in a trail of wet kisses.

  It had been years since she'd danced with the girls, but she still had the moves. Moves he was intimately familiar with. It wasn't until the music stopped that he managed to get his breathing under control. Now she was going to—

  Racy held up the empty glass. "Anyone else want one?"

  She laughed when the crowd shouted in agreement and surged forward. Gage immediately sought out his sister. Relief filled his chest when he found her against the back wall with another waitress and one of the bouncers.

  "I'll take that as a yes." Racy's singsong voice called out over the crowd, pulling Gage's attention back to her. "Seeing how my tip jar is getting low, I think we need a special…."

  The regulars in the crowd knew what was coming and roared their approval.

  Damn, it was getting warm in here. Gage yanked down the zipper of his bomber jacket, desire tightening his chest.

  "Now, what I need is a very thirsty cowboy, but not just any cowboy." I need someone with all the right moves…who is willing to part with his money!" Racy held aloft the empty shot glass. "The going rate for a Racy Special is one hundred dollars. Do I have any takers?"

  Despite the absurd price, there were plenty of men willing to part with their cash. When word spread just what a Racy Special included, even more hands shot into the air.

  He couldn't believe she was still pulling this stunt.

  "So many choices." Racy dropped her voice to a throaty rumble. "The tall, dark and handsome stranger in the back." She waved at a man who moved through the crowd toward the bar. Gage zeroed in on him, noting he was everything Racy said. "You got the cash, honey?"

  The man smiled and held up a hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Gage caught something familiar in his face. Did he know this guy?

  "What's your name, sugar?" Racy asked, taking the money and making a show of tucking it into the deep V of her top.

  "Chase." The man's deep voice carried over the microphone.

  "You're not one of our locals, Chase," Racy said. "Don't tell me you're a University of Wyoming Cowboy?"

  Racy's question brought more cheers as the band broke into "Ragtime Cowboy Joe," the university fight song. The University of Wyoming in Laramie was less than an hour's drive south, and The Blue Creek was a favorite among the college crowd.

  "It's a few years since my college days," the man said when Racy stuck the microphone under his nose again. "I'm from Texas."

  "Oh, Texas…love that Southern drawl."

  Gage thought he was going to puke.

  "Okay, let's give a paying customer some room." Racy waved away the bar patrons, who moved back into the crowd, taking their drinks with them. She traded her empty shot glass for one filled to the brim, then slowly turned to face the cowboy.

  "That's it?" he asked, looking up at her on the bar.

  "Oh, no, I'm not done with you yet."

  Gage's gut tightened into a painful knot.

  Racy ba
cked up and crooked her finger, motioning the cowboy to join her. He grinned and easily climbed up on the scarred wood surface.

  From this angle, Gage couldn't see the man's expression, but he could imagine what he was thinking with almost six feet of toned, sexy female standing right there in front of him.

  "Now, sweeties, you hold on to me while I hold on to this," Racy said, before handing off the microphone and raising the shot glass over her head.

  Gage's hands curled into fists as the crowd roared its approval when the music started again.

  Racy once again put her arsenal of bumps and grinds to good use as the cowboy took her in his arms in a modified two-step. She didn't spill a drop while they moved in a timeless rhythm that would've been blatantly sexual if they'd been horizontal.

  A hot jolt of something he refused to label raced through Gage's veins as he watched. A rush of pent-up air escaped his lips when the music finally ended and the crowd applauded.

  Racy spoke but he couldn't hear her words as the cheering grew louder when the cowboy nodded. She motioned to the bar where a saltshaker and wedge of lime sat on a small tray. With one hand on his shoulder, she directed the cowboy to his knees.

  "Now, a Racy S-special isn't just a s-shot of Mexican blue agave tequila reposado."

  Her voice shook as she spoke, the crowd now hushed. "To do this properly you need the right inducements."

  Gage mentally nailed his boots to the floor. It took every ounce of his willpower not to march downstairs and yank her ass off the bar. What the hell was she trying to prove? Hadn't she learned—

  Wait, did she just look up at him?

  She pulled in a deep breath, her voice strong again as she swung her long curls off the face with a practiced toss of her head. "Let me demonstrate. The rest of you are welcome to watch so you can try this in the privacy of your own home."

  Taking the saltshaker from the cowboy's outstretched hand, she raised her left wrist to her mouth. Gage could've sworn she was staring right at him as her tongue left a damp path on her skin. She then held the arm and sprinkled salt over the area.

  Moving closer, she balanced her salt-encrusted arm on his shoulder and held the shot glass inches from his mouth. Piercing whistles and catcalls raced through the crowd.

  "Don't make me laugh, ya'll, can't spill good booze." Racy addressed the crowd before turning her attention back to the cowboy. "Okay, sugar. You're welcome to take your shot whenever you're ready."

  Again, her gaze lifted to her overhead lights. No, that wasn't right. She was staring up at the balcony. At him.

  The cowboy remained still for a long moment. Then he rose, ignoring her salt-covered skin and tossing the lime over his shoulder. Leaning forward, he captured the shot glass with his mouth, tipped his head back and downed the booze in one swallow before releasing the glass into his hand.

  The crowd cheered and the band went live with a rocking country song when the cowboy lifted Racy's hand to his mouth and kissed it before jumping back to the floor.

  Gage found himself torn between respect for the guy and the urge to tear the man's heart out of his chest.

  * * *

  Lucky bastard.

  Racy tried to concentrate on the computer screen. Chase Cartwright's words, whispered before he'd jumped off the bar, still rang in her ears. At first, she'd had no idea what he was talking about. Then he'd winked and said if she needed any help making her guy jealous, he'd be in town for a couple of weeks.

  Her guy? Yeah, right.

  She'd mumbled thanks and spent the rest of the night trying to justify to herself why she'd done it. Had it been worth it? She wasn't sure Gage had seen her performance. Keeping an eye out for him the rest of the night had produced nothing. If he was in the bar, he'd managed to stay hidden.

  Until closing time.

  She and Max had decided to close up an hour early due to a surprise snowstorm predicted to accumulate several inches. After the staff had cleaned up, Gina had given her a hug goodbye. Racy had quickly picked up that she was upset.

  When she had pressed, thinking it was job related, Gina had said her jailer was waiting to take her home. Powerless not to, she'd looked and found Gage's hard stare directed at her.

  Too far away to see his eyes, his clenched jaw and his arms folded over his chest told her either he'd indeed witnessed her entire act or he was still pissed about his sister working here.

  His gaze had held hers until Gina had walked past and slugged him in the arm. Then they both had disappeared out the door.

  "I'm heading out, sweetheart. You ready to go?"

  Racy looked up and found Max in the doorway. "I need to finish this paperwork."

  "I had planned to head home long ago." The man's grin rose into his mustache. "Look what I would've missed."

  She took a swallow of ginger ale from a nearby glass. "Give me a break. I haven't done that in months."

  Max yanked on his gloves. "Which makes me wonder, what's got you so riled that you'd do it again? Not to mention shaking your butt on the bar."

  Racy broke free of her boss's speculative gaze and turned back to the computer's bookkeeping program. "Just wanted to see if I could still keep up."

  "You kicked ass and you know it. Don't be long, ya hear? It's a winter wonderland out there." He sighed. "All this white stuff makes me long for the warmth of the South."

  A fact Racy was counting on when she presented her proposal to buy him out. "Another fifteen minutes, I promise."

  She concentrated on her work, pausing a few minutes later to push at the sleeve on her oversize sweatshirt. One with the bar's logo, not Gage's sweat jacket. That was buried in her backpack. And as soon as she got home it was going to the bottom of her closet.

  A quick glance at her watch told her it was almost 2:00 a.m. Wow, she hadn't known it was that late. Crashing on the battered leather couch against the far wall wasn't an option. No, she had to go home because—

  A muffled, steady clapping caused Racy to jump.

  She swung around. Gage. He leaned against the door frame, his Stetson and jacket stained from wet snow. Cheeks ruddy from the cold, his lips pressed in a hard line as he continued a measured applause.

  "Cut it out. You scared the crap out of me." Was she as breathless as she sounded? "How did you get—ah, Max. Look, I know Gina working here has you twisted six ways from Sunday, but I've already told you she's staying."

  He'd stopped clapping and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "She told me the same thing on the ride home. I was heading to my place when I saw your car in the parking lot. Come on, I'll give you a lift."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You don't have snow tires. I checked. Got chains in the trunk?"

  She didn't speak, knowing her silence gave him his answer.

  "That's what I figured." He entered her office. "Besides, you've been drinking."

  Racy glanced at the glass. "That's only—"

  "I don't care what it is. Mixed with the shot you had earlier, it's two drinks too many."

  She frowned in confusion until she realized he was talking about the shot glass of apple juice.

  Hmm, so he had seen everything. She should be happy, but deep inside she wondered if it mattered. He probably wouldn't give two whiffs if she'd stripped down to nothing and got it on with the first cowboy to cross her path.

  Of course, the last cowboy she'd gotten skin-to-skin with was standing right in front of her.

  "Oh, please, like you're worried about me." She turned back to the monitor, but fatigue overcame her. It was time to go home. In her own car. Three clicks and the computer started its shutdown. "I'm exhausted."

  "That's understandable." He spun her toward him.

  She gasped, never hearing him cross the room. He leaned in, his hands gripping the chair's wood handles, trapping her. "Considering the workout you got tonight."

  Her eyes slammed into his. She tried to back up, but there was nowhere to go. The man surrounded her. The clean, fresh scent of
snow and the outdoors clung to his clothes. It mixed with the warm, earthy scent of his skin to swirl around her, but she forced herself not to look away.

  It was like being back in high school all over again!

  He tugged on the chair, inching it closer. "Most husbands wouldn't enjoy seeing their wives parade on a bar in front of a bunch of drunk, horny cowboys."

  "I don't have a husband."

  His head dipped lower and thick lashes fanned out over sharp cheekbones as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He spoke, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes rose again to lock with hers. "We're still married. And, Mrs. Steele, we need to talk."