Page 49 of My Cowboy Temptation

Chapter 16

Callie

“Great job on the sale,”Natasha says to me Saturday night as we walk out the front door of the gallery.

It’s well past seven o’clock, the usual closing, thanks to the couple who decided five minutes before closing to return and buy the painting they admired earlier this afternoon. They balked at the cost of the work compared to some of the other paintings, but as I explained to them, the artist’s talent and the quality of the piece made the painting a steal since I estimated the painting’s value would easily double within five years’ time.

“There you are,” Natasha’s girlfriend says as she crosses the sidewalk to greet us, and I watch them kiss briefly before turning back to me.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Natasha asks me.

“No, I’ll be fine. This is my favorite time of night for a walk,” I say, looking up to the sky that’s still golden as the sun is ready to drop below the horizon, giving more than enough light to last until I arrive home.

With a last good-bye, I continue on down the sidewalk, my thoughts now free to think about things other than work. Like the cowboy who left so abruptly last night that it took me forever to get my head in the space it needed to relax and work on my painting. It hadn’t helped that the food he made was so damned good that after one bite, I couldn’t throw any of it away, no matter how much I wanted to.

In fact, there are still a few pancakes left over that are sounding pretty good right now. Maybe with some peanut butter spread on top instead of maple syrup or…why not both? And to appease the little voice whispering I need something that offers more nutrition than pancakes and peanut butter, I suppose I could eat an orange too.

I’m lost in planning dessert when that same creepy-crawly sensation of being watched takes hold, and I speed up my steps at the last block, looking forward to getting the locked entry door behind me. I hustle up the steps to the front of the apartment building, my keys in hand, and have just reached the door when someone grabs my wrist, and I’m pulled violently to the side and up against someone as a hand comes up over my mouth, stopping my scream. Then I’m being dragged to the alley alongside the building.

Once we’re in the shadows, the person stops, and I kick back, trying to break loose, but his firm grip is tight. I struggle again, moving and trying to break free until I realize that I’m quickly depleting all of my strength, and I would be better served reserving it until I need it. Once I’ve caught him off guard.

“That’s it,” the guy whispers as I stop fighting, and I look up over my shoulder into the face of the creepy guy from the other night. He grins, and he’s so close I can smell his putrid breath and see the hard glint in his eyes. He loosens his hold for a brief moment before I feel something cold and sharp pressing against my neck. “Now, I’m going to take my hand from your mouth, but if you so much as squeak, I’m going to have to push this fine blade deeper against your skin. It would be a shame though, since your neck is so pretty as it is. Unblemished.”

I don’t move, just wait until he finally removes his hand, fighting every instinct I have to holler at the top of my lungs for help. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing from you necessarily. You see, my boss has a message that needs to be sent, and you’re going to be the instrument we send that through. A warning.” He grabs my right hand and raises it in front of me. “Now, I understand that you’re an artist, so I’m betting you’re probably needing all of these fingers to hold, say, a paintbrush. But if you had to choose, which one would you say you’re open to losing?” He touches my index finger. “I’m guessing this one is pretty important.”

“You’re using me to send a message? Who exactly is this message from?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know who, but I’m trying to buy time to figure out how I’m getting out of this.

“Your dad and that man of his, Brody, will figure it out.” Forcefully, he flips me around so my back is against the building, and my hand is pinned above me.

This is really going to happen. I’m going to lose my finger, maybe more, and quite possibly bleed to death. Worse, my baby would bleed to death along with me. “Please,” I ask, hating the pleading tone that’s unmistakable. “Don’t do this. I’m pregnant.”

“I’ll make a clean cut, and if you’re careful, you should be able to get the bleeding under control until help arrives. Now, try not to struggle, or it will be more than one finger you lose.”

He brings the blade up, and I’m trying to decide my chances of kicking him and getting free without risking harm to me or the baby when a loud roar from my right has us both bringing our attention to the giant bounding toward us.

The guy’s hold on me slips as he turns to face the new threat, and he raises the knife as he faces Brody, who thrusts his arm out and knocks it from the guy’s hand like it’s nothing. Brody’s hand goes around the guy’s throat, and he shoves him against the wall where I was just a moment before.

“You’re going to regret laying one finger on her, Roger,” he says. Roger? That’s the guy’s name?

Before he can get a hit in, the guy moves forward with something in his hand, and I see Brody step back in surprise as he looks down to a gash in his shirt. He’s caught off guard but only for a second. By the time Brody lunges forward again, the guy is already running away.

“Oh, my God, Brody. What did he do?” I ask and rush forward. Pulling open his flannel shirt, we see a slash on his belly and blood seeping through his white undershirt. “He stabbed you?” I both ask and shout as I lift the undershirt to better see the damage.

“It’s a nick. Barely anything,” he says and steps closer to stare down at me. “How are you? Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. You got here just in time. But we should call the police and get you to the hospital to be checked out.”

“Callie,” he says calmly. “I’m fine. And we’re not going to call the police, okay? Your dad and I are going to handle this. Now, let’s get you to your apartment.”

No police? Why wouldn’t he want a record of this… I answer my own question. Record. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He winces, and any hesitation I have over not calling the police disappears as I realize that we should get upstairs so I can take care of that wound if he won’t go to the hospital.

It’s only as we reach the safety of my apartment, the door double locked behind us, that Brody lets me help him out of his shirt. He leans against the kitchen counter, and I get a fresh towel to wash the area. His skin is warm under my hand as I brush the towel gently across the cut, wiping away the blood. He doesn’t wince as I finish, making me wonder if he had been exaggerating the pain in the alley just to get me up here without further argument.

But I can’t be angry, all things considered. Particularly about the part of him rushing in and saving me from harm without any thought of the harm he was putting himself in.

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