Page 2 of Cowboy

“I just want to make sure you make it home. Where do you live?”

She blinked big eyes at him and even in the dim lighting around the club he could tell they were a pale blue.

“I’m around the corner and just down the street.”

“Can you walk, or should I get my truck?”

“I can—” she hiccupped, “I can walk.” She took a few more staggering steps then stopped again, her shoulder hitting the wall.

Cowboy shook his head. “Here, let me help you.” He took her arm gently and helped her walk a little more steadily.

He asked directions several times, then when they got to her apartment door, he waited while she tried to get the key in the lock for what seemed like forever before he asked for the keys and let them in.

“Where’s the bedroom?” he asked once they were inside, and the door was closed.

“This way.” She flung an arm to the left.

“Come on. Let’s get you into bed before you pass out.” He walked her down the short hall where she all but nose-dived into the bed.

Cowboy shook his head as he pulled off her boots, then pulled the blanket up over her snoring body. Looking around he found a trash can not far away and moved it to beside the bed in case she got sick. Then he left a glass of water, and a couple of Tylenol he found on the kitchen counter on the table next to the bed.

He carried her keys back into the kitchen and found a notebook there, where she was working on a grocery list. He pulled a clean sheet from the notebook and wrote a quick note.

Sleep well,

Cowboy.

He added his phone number, put her keys on the paper and let himself out, making sure he locked the door on his way out.

2

Sunlight seemed to stab through her closed eyelids, that and a pounding head woke Ava. She rolled over, trying to get away from the light, and her stomach lurched. Where was she? She searched her memory, trying to figure out what happened.

The last thing she remembered was turning down yet another of several men who thought a woman out dancing alone must be looking for a guy to pick her up. The last one hadn’t been nice about it and had called her a stuck-up bitch. He’d hurt her feelings, but she knew she didn’t have to put out just because she felt like dancing and some stranger took it as an invitation.

Her stomach began to settle and after a moment she risked opening her eyes. A glass of water sat on her nightstand. Where had that come from? She didn’t remember leaving one there. There was something beside it.

Ava lifted her head to take a closer look then had to close her eyes as the motion made the jackhammer working on her head go into overdrive. When the ache in her head had eased enough that she could open her eyes, she realized what she hadn’t been able to see well was two Tylenol capsules. She sent a silent thank you to her drunk self for thinking to put these out. But if she’d set them out, why hadn’t she taken them?

It took her a moment to sit up enough she could take the pills and sip the water. Carefully at first, making sure it didn’t upset her stomach, then faster once she decided her stomach would handle it.

She sat, eyes closed for several minutes trying to gather the will to get up and go find something to eat. The thought of food set her stomach churning again, but she knew she needed to eat something.

How had she managed to get her boots off and neat beside the bed, but leave her clothes on?

Her first stop was the bathroom, where she sat on the floor for a few minutes, half afraid she was going to be sick. After a bit she was able to get her stomach under control. Then she staggered into the kitchen. Why had getting drunk sounded so good?

She was old enough to know better, or at least she should have been. If she hadn’t married before she was old enough to drink and stayed away from alcohol because Hank had insisted it wasn’t fitting that his wife might be seen with alcohol, then she might have enough experience to know better.

In the kitchen she opened the fridge and looked inside. Neither juice nor milk held any appeal. And she didn’t want to cook. What did she have that she could just eat. Hadn’t she gotten crackers when she’d been shopping a few days ago?

She closed the fridge, went to the cabinet, and found the box of Ritz. She opened a tube while turning around and leaning her butt against the counter. Popping the first cracker in her mouth she closed her eyes and prayed it would settle her stomach. Eyes still closed, she shook her head and tried to remember the last time she’d prayed. Probably almost a year ago. Before she’d caught Hank in the office with his secretary slipping her something that sure as hell hadn’t been the holy ghost.

Ava pushed the memory of Hank and all that had come before and after that moment, from her mind. She wondered again how she’d gotten home. After a couple crackers, her stomach seemed to have calmed down. It was probably time to think about finding more to eat.

Opening her eyes, she spotted her keys on the counter. She didn’t remember leaving them there. She always hung them on the hook at the end of the bar. Ava picked up the keys and stared at them for a moment trying to remember putting them there, but came up with nothing so she hung them up. It wasn’t until she set the tube of crackers on the counter that she realized the keys had been sitting on a piece of paper. With a frown she picked it up and read the brief note.

Cowboy? Who was Cowboy? She hoped he wasn’t one of the men who had been so ugly to her last night.

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