Chapter Thirty-Seven
As Sam passed the line of doors under the porch of the motel, the sound of televisions came from a few of the rooms. The ice machine was in a large niche at the end of the building. But before she got the ice to take back to the too-small motel room with a man she wanted but couldn’t have, she needed a moment to take a breath and wind down.
It had been quite a day. Looking down at her father’s watch, she corrected herself. Yesterday had been quite a day.
Cars were traveling up and down the divided highway, and she wondered if anyone in them was hunting her. The neon sign in the window of a liquor store across the street showed it was open. Remembering the bottles of fancy bourbon lining the shelf in the kitchen at Garrett’s cabin, she headed over to the store.
The entry door let out an annoying buzz as she went in, and the large woman at the counter glanced up from the newspaper. Seeming unimpressed, she resumed reading as Sam perused the aisles.
She found a bottle on the bourbon shelf that looked familiar because of the red wax oozing down the neck, and took it to the counter.
“ID, please,” the clerk said.
Sam pulled out her new driver’s license and the cash from her pocket. Without a second glance, the woman returned her ID. Sam bumped the gun at her waist as she put it and the change back in her pocket.
Shit. She’d carried a gun into a liquor store. Now she had two things to worry about—Howe’s men and the police.
The clerk put the bottle in a paper bag and handed it to her with an unenthusiastic, “Have a nice night,” before turning her attention back to the newspaper.
With her purchase and enough fresh air, she put a scoopful of ice in the bucket she’d left on the machine, and went back to the room.
“What the hell took you so long?” Garrett demanded. He’d been trying to get his boots on. “I was coming to look for you.” He wobbled as he stood up.
“Relax. I saw a liquor store across the street so I got you this. I thought maybe it would help.”
With a glare he took the bag she handed him, but it softened when he pulled out the bottle.
“I didn’t give you that sixty bucks so you’d spend it on me,” he grumbled, and sat down on the loveseat.
She chose to ignore his grumpiness and fetched the plastic cups from the counter, and dropped in a few of the ice cubes.
People—men in particular—could be quite snappy when they were in pain or exhausted. This man was both. He would be in a much better mood after a good night’s rest. She handed over the bag of ice and he put it first on his head and then on his ribs.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Just bruised. I’ll be fine.” He winced as he sat on the edge of the bed.
She focused on pouring him a couple fingers of bourbon so she wouldn’t stare at his bare chest and ripped abs. Even the bruises didn’t detract from his sexiness.
Or the fact that there was only one bed.
She knew Garrett was going to insist she take the bed regardless of the fact he wouldn’t fit on the loveseat.
She had an idea that might make him more cooperative. Rummaging through the first aid kit, she found the Vicodin and dumped two into her palm while her back was to him.
She smiled as she handed the cup to him and then the pills. “Here. Do you want something for the pain?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t look too closely. She’d been careful to word her question the same way he had.
“Thanks.” He held the cup up in a toast and drank it down after swallowing the pills. He took a quick breath at the end and winced, but held the cup out. She gave him a second shot, a little bigger than the first.
He kicked it back and winced again, though not as badly.
She set the bottle down next to him. “Why don’t you lie down and watch TV while I go shower?”
“You can have the bed,” he said, as she’d known he would.
“Okay. But you can relax there until I’m ready to go to sleep.”
He grunted, and reached for the bottle. She helped him top off his cup again, hoping she was giving him enough to fall asleep but not put him into a coma.
He blinked a couple times as he finished it off. “Thank you, Sam. You’d make a damn fine nurse.”
She propped some pillows behind his head. “Would I make a fine deputy U.S. Marshal?”
His eyelids drooped as he bobbed his head. “Yeah. As long as you weren’t my partner.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to be my partner? I think we make a pretty good team,” she said, affronted. Had she not just saved his ass?
“Yeah. But I’d be too worried about you. I wouldn’t want you to be in any danger.”
“Ah.” She’d noticed that. Many times.
“You’re pretty,” he whispered as she took the empty cup from him and set it on the nightstand.
She chuckled as she took in his dazed expression. “Thanks.” The medicine and the liquor were obviously beginning to kick in.
“No. You’re freakin’ gorgeous. And you kiss like a house on fire.” His words were slurred, but it didn’t deter from the compliment. If a house on fire was actually a compliment. “I really wish things were different. So I could fuck you in a bed.”
Okay.
She smiled, happy that he was still thinking about her in that way. She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. She would have continued, but it was pretty clear he was fading fast.
“As much as I’d like to take you up on that romantic offer, I think you’d better get some sleep.”
He gazed up at her with a dopey smile. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you for risking everything for me. I cost you your home, and you’ve been in constant danger ever since I got in your Jeep. I want you to know that—”
Her gratitude was cut off by his soft snore.
She smiled and brushed her hand against his cheek. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I’ll keep an eye on the ranch tonight.”
She flopped down on the loveseat by the window. Better to be uncomfortable. She didn’t dare lie down next to him, she’d be sleeping in no time. She pulled out her gun to begin her guard duty.
At six thirty in the morning, she was beginning to nod off. Only the rumbling of her stomach was keeping her awake. Deciding she would rather be shot than starve to death slowly in their hotel room, she hurried over to the fast food place next to the liquor store, and bought three breakfast sandwiches. There was a coffee pot in their room, which she would start when she got back.
Assuming Garrett didn’t kill her for leaving the room again without him.