Page 49 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

In college, every little noise kept her from drifting off and when she actually did, she would wake if her roommate so much as rolled over in bed. Sleeping above the auto garage, she was disturbed early by the bumps and thumps of men repairing vehicles, calling out to each other and motors firing up.

So waking in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere after a full night’s sleep was a shocking experience.

Lark whistled as she moved through the bedroom, locating a set of clean clothes in the drawers filled with options. She pulled out a pair of shorts and held them up to her body.

Was it even warm outside? In Colorado, the weather could go from a hot summer’s day to snowing by nightfall. She’d just have to take her chances because most of the clothes available were far too oversized on her short frame.

With the shorts in hand, she plucked a simple gray sweatshirt off the men’s pile without even glancing at the size. Man, she loved having the kind of energy sleep and comfort provided.

“If I got such fantastic rest every day, imagine the things I could get done,” she said to herself as she closed herself in the bathroom.

In minutes she was showered, dressed and had her teeth brushed. Then she went into the bedroom again to tidy up. Starting with the contents of her purse dumped all over the top of the dresser, and the floor too, she scooped items up and dropped them into the cloth bag.

She grabbed her phone and turned on a music playlist as she sorted through the items. Humming to a song turned to whistling. Then her very favorite song came on, and there was no way to hold back.

Heavy metal music wasn’t for everybody, and she didn’t listen to it exclusively either. But the hardcore vocals and lyrics had gotten her through more than one tough moment.

She started singing in the guttural tones that she’d practiced perfecting. The vocalist was female too, so Lark hit every note. Opening her mouth wide, she reached the scream she loved best.

The bedroom door flung open, banging off the inner wall. Lark cut off her scream—well, mid-scream.

Clay jerked his head, scanning the room and landing on her standing near the dresser. “What—”

She offered him a smile. “I’m just getting ready for the day.”

“You were screaming.”

“I was singing.”

“Screaming.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, you did!” His grumpy tone sounded as gravelly as the voice coming from her phone’s speaker.

Quickly, she stopped the playlist and settled a hand on her hip, swinging to face her big, tough protector.

“Aww. Now that I see the lines of worry creasing your eyes and bracketing your hard mouth, I do feel kind of bad.”

Twin furrows deepened between his brows. “I do not have lines.”

“Do too.”

He cut a hand through the air as if finished with the topic of his worry lines. “Lark.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “What in the world are you listening to?”

She uncapped the lip gloss she’d set aside and applied it to her bottom lip. Clay’s gaze shot to her mouth. She rubbed her lips together, which seemed to break his stare on her.

“It’s one of my favorite songs.”

“You can’t be serious, Lark. You listen to death metal?”

“Sometimes. You have a problem with my music preferences?”

“When I hear you screaming and think someone is gutting you with a paperclip, yes—I do.”

His words sank in hard and fast, leaving her feeling a bit dizzy.

“Hell.” In one step, he grabbed her by the upper arms and guided her to the bed. Easing her down, he studied her face. “You’re pale as hell now. I should never have said the gutting thing. But dammit, I thought you werehurt, Lark.”

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