Page 8 of Westin
“You were standing there when this went down,” Clint reminded him. “You helped get her out of the way; you stood there and calmed her down when it was over. You’re just as deep into this as the rest of us.”
“It wasn’t my choice to bring her back here.”
“No; that was my choice, and I’ll take responsibility for it. But we have to do this together, or we don’t do it at all.” Clint looked around at the other guys, ending his gaze hard on Westin’s face, making him feel almost like a bug under a microscope. “Either everyone helps, or we bundle her up and take her back into town.”
“We should vote,” Bowie suggested.
Westin rocked back on his heels, shaking his head. “This isn’t some sort of game, guys. We don’t know what this woman’s into. We could have just invited a hell storm to come erupt over our heads.”
“That’s why we should vote,” Remington said, sharing a quick high five with Bowie once the words were out. “Clint’s right; we can’t do this if we aren’t all in on it.”
Westin sighed because he knew how the vote would go, and knew that the new Dean Koontz novel he had waiting in his bunk would have to wait another day.
Lea heard the door open, and a part of her wondered if Fang had found her. But when the footsteps stopped only a few feet into the room, she relaxed, guessing it was one of the cowboys come to keep her company.
What were the chances she’d have a group of cowboys come to her rescue? Out here, in the middle of the great frozen state of Colorado? She might have thought it was impossible, but she was getting the impression that she’d somehow wandered into the heart of cattle country. She thought she’d left all this behind when she’d escaped Arizona, but obviously not.
She scrubbed at her skin, wishing she had a razor to remove the quickly-growing hair on her legs, still feeling dirty as long as she could feel that bit of stubble. It wasn’t bad yet. She’d managed to spend a few hours in a motel room night before last, was able to have a shower and a quick nap before moving on. But she was a woman used to showering every day, to shaving every day. She was a little obsessive-compulsive that way. She supposed she would have to make do with what she had. That didn’t extend to her clothes, though. She wasn’t putting those dirty panties back on, no matter who was after her! She did, however, grab the sunflower pendant she’d had around her neck and drop the chain back over her head. That she would keep close—no matter how dirty it might get.
Did stainless steel get dirty?
Lea wrapped herself in a towel—a surprisingly thick towel—and twisted a second one around her hair before stepping up to the door. Much to her delight, the cowboy who had come back to watch over her was the driver. Westin. Wasn’t that what the one in charge—Clint?—had called him?
“Hey, Cowboy,” she said, pulling the door open the rest of the way and leaning against the doorframe in just that towel. “You wouldn’t happen to have a washing machine around here, would you? Or a little boutique where I can get some clean clothes? Though I’d have to borrow a couple of bucks to pay for them…”
He glanced at Lea like he’d seen his share of naked women and wasn’t interested in anything she had to offer. “You’re out of luck there. Maybe when Clint comes around later, you can send him to the store with a list. He’s got a wife, so he’s used to shopping for female crap.”
“Is that right?”
His eyes moved lazily over her, that deep blue electric. She could almost feel it burning her skin, like a touch from a fevered hand.
“I don’t suppose you have a phone, do you? A cell phone? Do you cowboys know what that is?”
He grunted even as he leaned back in the chair where he was sprawled, lifting his booted feet up to the edge of the bed and crossing them at the ankles, dirt visibly falling in teeny avalanches onto the pretty green quilt. “You’d be surprised how much technology we use around here. We’re not as backward as you might think.”
“Then you have a phone?”
He rolled his shoulders as he lifted his jacket from where Lea had removed it and carefully hung it over the back of the chair opposite him to pull it up to his chin like a blanket. He closed his eyes like he was content to sit there and take a nap.
“Hey!” she cried, marching over to him in her bare feet, shoving his feet off the bed with her hip. “I asked you question!”
He sat up, leaning forward just slightly. “I realize you’re probably used to being the center of attention, Ms.—what’s your name again?”
“Adams. My name is Lea Adams, you buffoon!”
He tilted his head like he was struggling to see her in the bright sunlight. “Hasn’t anyone told you, Ms. Adams, that getting what you want is much easier with honey, not vinegar?”
“Fuck you!”
She spun on her heel and crossed the room, but there really wasn’t anywhere for her to go. She ended up walking to the window, then spinning again to face him, nothing but that massive, beautiful bed between them. She clutched the towel she wore over her body, grateful it was wide enough to hide all the important parts, but still feeling more than a little exposed, which hadn’t been a bad thing a minute ago, but felt disempowering now.
“I’d like to use your phone.”
“Never said I had one.”
She grunted, feeling a little more frustrated than she cared to admit. “Do you have a phone?”
He leaned back again, putting his big, dirty boots back onto the side of the bed. “What do you want it for?”