Truman (Texas Rascals #7) Read online

  Truman

  Texas Rascals, Volume 7

  Lori Wilde

  Published by Epiphany Orchards Press, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  TRUMAN

  First edition. May 31, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Lori Wilde.

  Written by Lori Wilde.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Truman (Texas Rascals, #7)

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven | “Get up,” Paul Smith growled, pressing something | hard and cold into Katie’s ribs. ‘‘You’re coming with | me.

  Sign up for Lori Wilde's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Kael

  Also By Lori Wilde

  About the Author

  Truman

  Chapter One

  Katie Prentiss was running up the lush pathway of the Rascal Botanical Gardens, her ankle-length taffeta bridesmaid’s dress swishing between her legs, when a man leaped from behind a maze of shrubbery and lunged for the silk purse clutched loosely in her hands.

  Realizing she was about to be mugged, Katie swerved to the right but stumbled in her four-inch heels over a bed of pink geraniums lining the sidewalk.

  The predator jumped in front of her, barring her way. He wore a ski mask, which struck her as incongruous in the sticky heat. Growling, he snatched for her purse.

  Katie’s initial response was to flee, but then she reminded herself she wanted to be brave just like the intrepid Tess Dupree, heroine of her favorite mystery series. Tess wouldn’t surrender without a fight. Gritting her teeth, Katie kept a firm grip on the beaded handle.

  For one curious moment they stood there in an odd tug-of-war, her delicate, peach-colored purse the coveted prize.

  “Give it up, sister,’’ the mugger growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Help!” Katie screamed. “Robbery! Purse thief!”

  The designer purse had cost her more than her monthly electric bill. Bolstering her courage with thoughts of Tess, Katie refused to let go.

  They tussled for a moment. The mugger twisting one way, Katie the other.

  “Let go!” the mugger insisted.

  “No!” By golly, she wasn’t going to let this petty thug make off with her purse.

  A whistle blasted, followed by the echoing ring of metal horseshoes striking pavers. Katie turned her head and spotted a mounted policeman galloping toward them.

  “Police! Stop!”

  The thief gave a mighty tug and the purse popped from Katie’s hands. The force knocked her backward into the flower bed, her palms stinging from the impact.

  Tucking his bounty in the crook of his arm, the mugger sprinted for the dense shrubbery like a Super Bowl running-back headed for the end zone.

  The officer urged his mount faster. Moving as one, horse and rider whizzed past Katie in pursuit of their quarry. From her place on the ground, she gaped. The thief hit the thicket inches

  ahead of the horseman. He wriggled into the underbrush and disappeared from sight.

  The policeman reined in his horse and changed direction, forced by thick foliage to go around. Katie struggled to her feet and to her dismay discovered that her lovely bridesmaid dress was marred with grass stains and smears of moist black earth.

  Katie closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She already been running late and at this very moment she was supposed to be at the Rascal Arboretum, half a mile farther up the road, walking down the aisle in front of her little sister, Jenny. Instead, she stood here dirty, purse-less and feeling rather guilty.

  Grimacing, she brushed at the stains. How could she have been so thoughtless? All the parking spaces near the arboretum had been occupied. If she’d been on time, she wouldn’t have been forced to park in the farthest lot.

  When will you never learn? she scolded herself.

  She had a bad habit of perpetually running five to ten minutes late. Her father, the psychologist, claimed it was an unconscious act of rebellion, and postulated that the

  chronically tardy used lateness as a power ploy.

  Her mother, the socialite, insisted it was just plain rude. Tess Dupree, Katie’s number-one role model, would have been proud. Tess was never one for following rules.

  The sound of returning horse hooves drew her attention. Katie raised her head and caught her breath. The sun, filtering through the park’s massive oak and pecan trees, silhouetted the rider in a rosy glow so mystical Katie wondered if the heavens had opened and deposited the mysterious horseman to for the express purpose of rescuing recalcitrant maids of honor.

  Goodness!

  This guy was even sexier than Tess’s husband, Zack. If Tess was the perfect woman, brave, intelligent with moxie to spare, then Zack Dupree was the perfect male—handsome and witty, with a killer grin. Undercover detectives by trade, the fictional Zack and Tess made the ultimate crime-fighting team.

  And this cowboy cop, sitting easily astride the tall Appaloosa, reminded Katie of what she imagined Zack looked like.

  Then she saw the horseman was empty-handed and her heart dipped to her feet.

  “Where’s my purse?” she asked him as he reined the horse in beside her.

  He shook his head. “He got away.”

  “How?”

  “He had a motorcycle parked on the other side of the hedges.”

  “Oh, dear.” Although she’d been carrying little money, her keys and driver’s license were in that purse.

  The cowboy swung down from his mount and walked closer. He was dressed in black jeans, boots and a black shirt that had Police stenciled in white block letters across both front and back. The silver whistle around his neck glinted in the dappled sunlight. A holstered gun hung at his hips. Thick straight hair the color of raw honey was visible beneath a white Stetson. His piercing hazel eyes captured her gaze and held steady.

  Katie sucked in air. Something about the man struck her as familiar. Unexpectedly, her stomach fluttered.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice professional yet at the same time richly soothing.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Just disgusted.”

  “We’ve had purse snatchers and pickpockets lurking in the park this summer. You shouldn’t have resisted him. You could have been badly hurt.”

  “I hate being a victim,” Katie countered.

  “Better to lose a purse than your life. What if the guy had been the violent type?” He took off his Stetson, and recognition crept over Katie. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes.

  “Truman West?”

  “Yes?” He squinted. “Have we met?”

  He didn’t remember her. Oddly enough she felt disappointed, although he should have no reason to recall the fumbling fifteen-year-old who had been so desperately infatuated with him back in high school.

  As senior class president and championship rodeo bronc rider, he’d never given a second glance to the awkward girl-next-door she’d once been.

  Even now, Katie cringed at the memory.

  She extended her hand. “It’s me—Katie Prentiss. My family lived next door to yours on Lee Street for a couple of years.”

  “Katie?” An incredulous look crossed his face, then he cracked a smile of recollection. “Little Katie Prentiss?”

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  “My.” He raked his gaze over the length of her body and smiled his approval. “You used to be so...”

  “Fat.” Katie finished the sentence for him. She might as well. She knew what he was thinking. As a teenager, she’d been fifty pounds overweight, worn braces and glasses. Nobody had looked at her twice except to snicker behind her back. A fat, four-eyed, metal mouth. Even to this day, ten years later, the taunts still smarted.

  “Astounding.” Truman continued to stare at her. “Talk about reinventing yourself. I would never have known you.”

  Katie appreciated his reaction. She’d worked hard to become attractive, exercising an hour every day, watching her diet, wearing contact lenses, dressing in the latest fashions, cutting her hair in the chicest style. She liked stupefying people from the old days. It took the sting out of her ugly-duckling years.

  “Thank you.”

  “Katie Prentiss.” He repeated her name again, still shaking his head. “Amazing.”

  When he smiled, a shiver of delight skipped down her spine. She might have dramatically altered her appearance, but deep inside she was still that nervous fifteen-year-old who’d found all her friends between the pages of books. If it hadn’t been for Tess Dupree, the self-confident heroine from an old out-of-print mystery series Katie had adored as a child, she probably wouldn’t be able to have a normal conversation with this man.

  Truman West was virtually unchanged. He was still the stuff of romantic fantasies. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscled biceps—he was any woman’s dream lover. Except now, the faint lines at the comers of his eyes, the self-confident aura in his stance told her he’d grown and matured.

  “So, what should I do about my purse?”

  “I’ll file a report for you, but I need to ask a few questions first.”

  “Actually—” Katie swept a hand at her dress “—I’m
sort of late for Jenny’s wedding.”

  “Jenny? Your baby sister’s getting married? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I know. Hard to believe. But she’s twenty-three and her fiancé, Mark, is a great guy.” Katie glanced at her watch. “Yikes! I’m ten minutes late already. They must be frantic with worry.”

  “Where’s the ceremony being held?”

  “The arboretum.”

  “That’s a long walk. Why don’t you let me give you a ride?”

  Katie cast a dubious glance at the horse. Ten years ago, she would have given up her favorite books to have been invited to ride double with Truman West. Her stomach flip-flopped at the prospect of folding her arms around that flat firm abdomen, but the thought of straddling a horse in an ankle-length bridesmaid’s gown had her balking.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said. “Tuck your skirt around your legs.”

  Why not? Tess would go for it in a second.

  “Okay,” Katie agreed. She would make one heck of an entrance, and the sooner she got there the better.

  Truman extended his palm to her.

  Katie sucked in her breath and placed her hand in his. She was unprepared for the rush of sensations that swamped her. The memory of her old crush rose to a high flush in her cheeks reminding her of how she had lain on her bed for countless hours staring at the ceiling and pining for his affections.

  “Ever been on a horse before?” he asked, leading her around to the left side of the mount.

  “Just pony rides when I was a kid.”

  “Stick your left foot here in the stirrup.” Truman placed a restraining hand on the horse’s neck. “Grab hold of the saddle horn and swing your right leg over. Don’t look so dubious. You can do this.”

  Katie bunched the skirt of her dress in a fist. Add wrinkles to the dirt and grass stains, she thought wryly. Her mother would be appalled, but it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully, no one else would notice. All eyes should be on Jenny.

  Tentatively, she raised her left foot and slipped it into the metal stirrup. With her free hand she grasped the saddle horn and found herself unable to swing aboard. The horse stepped forward. Katie lost her grip, but her foot stayed firmly wedged in the stirrup.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” she said, her voice coming out panicky. She could see herself being dragged through the park.

  Truman grabbed the reins and pulled the animal up short. “Calm down. He senses your nervousness.”

  “This is hard,” Katie groused. “You make it look so easy.”

  “Well.” Truman quirked a smile. “You are rather encumbered by that dress. How about I give you a hand?”

  Oh no! He was going to touch her again? Before she knew what was happening, Truman bent his knees, positioned his hands around her waist and lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed no more than a baby.

  “Up you go.”

  Truman’s voice echoed in her ears and she found herself astride the large horse. Katie felt disoriented and completely out of place, her taffeta dress hiked up to her thighs, the excess material billowing around her waist while she tentatively clutched the saddle horn with both hands.

  She turned her head, looked down into Truman’s craggy yet handsome face, and the world tilted on its axis. Her breath came in short quick gasps.

  “Scoot forward,” he said.

  Katie leaned up in the saddle and Truman swung up behind her. His strong arms reached around her, his biceps brushing lightly against her breasts as he collected the

  reins between his weather-roughened fingers and tugged on them.

  He clicked his tongue.

  The horse tossed his head and following Truman’s command, turned toward the

  Rascal Arboretum, located deeper inside the desert gardens.

  “How are your folks?” she asked, desperate to derail her train of thought. ‘ ‘My mother lost track of your family after your parents got divorced and you moved off to El Paso with your father.”

  “Dad died seven years ago.”

  “Oh, Truman, I’m so sorry to hear that. What happened?”

  “He was shot in the line of duty while trying to arrest some punk kid high on drugs.”

  “Oh my gosh, how awful.” Katie sucked in her breath. She didn’t know what to say and she wondered if his father’s death had anything to do with Truman becoming a policeman.

  “And your mother?” Katie asked.

  “Mom moved to Florida to live with her sister after the divorce. She and I don’t speak often.”

  She heard the animosity in his voice. Did he blame his mother for the divorce? Even after all this time? She was touched by his pain and she longed to reach out to him.

  Why? Could it be she still carried a torch for the man? But that was nonsense. Her feelings for him had been those of a starry-eyed teenager.

  And although Truman had been tolerant of her adolescent crush, he’d never once encouraged her. Besides, he’d dated the homecoming queen, gorgeous Rhonda McKnight. Her gaze strayed to his ring finger, which held the reins, and she noticed it was bare.

  Her heart gave a strange little hop at the sight and Katie cleared her throat.

  “Did you and Rhonda McKnight ever get married?”

  “No.” Truman spoke sharply. “Rhonda broke our engagement. She couldn’t stand the thought of being a cop’s wife. Guess that old adage about following in your father’s footsteps was true for me. I couldn’t imagine myself becoming anything but a cop. Especially after Dad was killed. I felt like I owed it to him.”

  Katie shouldn’t be happy, but dam it if she didn’t feel a little pleased at the news he and Rhonda had never married. “That’s a shame. About you and Rhonda I mean.”

  “Not really. Rhonda and I were all wrong for each other.”

  Darn right, Katie thought. You need someone like me. Someone who respects and admires all the hard work that the police do.

  “My work means everything to me,” Truman continued. “Everything.”

  Obviously more than any woman if he was still unmarried at age twenty-nine. And Truman was so fetching in those tight pants and knee-length boots, he probably had to fend off the females with pepper spray.

  Of course, pepper spray wouldn’t stop the likes of Tess Dupree. Whatever that woman wanted she went after full throttle. Hadn’t Zack been a confirmed bachelor before Tess won him over?

  Hmm, maybe Katie should take Truman’s single status as a challenge. Did she dare?

  “So, you’ve moved back to Rascal?”

  “I’m renting an apartment over on First Street.”

  “No kidding? Alpine Villas?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “That’s where I live. I’m way at the back.”

  “Small world. What about you, Katie Prentiss?”

  “Me?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. She hated to tell him the truth. It was so predictable. Shy bookworm becomes book-loving librarian. She longed to tell him she was a spy or

  a private eye or something equally exciting.

  “I’m a librarian at the Rascal Public Library.”

  “You always did have your nose in a book.” He chuckled. “I remember you sitting up in that Chinaberry tree in your parents’ backyard reading for hours on end.”

  Gosh, did she ever sound boring! “I’m considering changing professions,” she said quickly.

  “Oh? To what line of work?”

  “I thought I might be good at investigating.”

  “You mean like a private eye?”

  “Yeah. It’s silly, I know.” Katie twisted her fingers in knots.

  “It’s not.”

  “Really?”

  “You’d be in for a lot of hard work and it’s not easy getting your PI license in Texas, but you could do it if you wanted.”

  “Oh, I expect that,” Katie said.

  “I’m a detective,” he said.

  “You are? Since when do detectives ride horses?”

  “Because I’m a horseman, my supervisor transferred me to the mounted police for a few weeks until we get a handle on these muggings. Normally, I work bunko.”

  “That’s fraud, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Swindlers, confidence men, Ponzi schemes, things like that,” she asked.

  “I can see you know your way around the terminology,” he said.

  “Hey, there have been a few advantages to keeping my nose stuck in a book.”