Lucky In Love
Stacey Coverstone

     Laying her head back, she closed her eyes and continued to imagine all the improvements that could be done to the ranch. Her eyelids were finally becoming heavy. She was finally going to drift off...
     CRASH! The peace of the night splintered—Jordan jumped, her eyes instantly open. More crashing and banging like metal cans under assault. Were there trash cans beside the house or near the barn? She hadn’t noticed earlier.
     She remained frozen in the armchair, attempting to determine the direction from which the noise came. A beam of light shot through the living room window and blazed across the room. The curtains! She’d forgotten to close them before going to bed. Her heart started to race.
     I need a weapon. What can I use for protection? Jordan leaped out of the chair and dashed into the kitchen. She grabbed a mop that was leaning against the counter in a bucket of sudsy water she hadn’t dumped yet. Not the dripping mop, dummy! You’ll slip and kill yourself. A knife is what you need!
     She yanked open the silverware drawer—made a quick mental note to straighten it later—and fumbled through the utensils until she found a carving knife. She raised it to the light of the moon, which shone through the clear kitchen window. The knife’s sharp edge glinted.
     Bolting back across the room, she flipped off the table lamp.
     Did I lock the front door? What an idiot! No, I didn’t! She ran to the front door. Her hand touched the lock just as something outside bumped against the door.
     Jordan bit back the urge to scream. She flipped the lock and swung away to press her back against the wall. Again, there was a bump against the door. She heard a whimper.
     Raising the knife into the air, she prepared to strike. Her heart thumped.
     The slamming of car doors and the squealing of tires left her confused, but relieved. She scooted over to one of the front windows and peeked out just in time to see an old pickup peeling away. Even without the dust kicked up from the driveway, it was too dark for her to make out a license plate number. She lowered the knife to her side and took several deep breaths.
     Suddenly, something like claws began scratching on the front door, and Jordan jumped again. What could that be? A bear? She peered out the window again. A dog jumped up and pawed at it, scaring the life out of her. When she rapped on the glass, the dog sat on its haunches and barked.
     Still holding the knife, she returned to the front door, unlocked and opened it, and the dog ran in, sniffing around like he owned the place. She slammed the door shut and quickly relocked it. “And who might you be?” she asked the black and white Border Collie. The dog sat down on the tile floor and its tail began to wag. “Where did you come from? Was that you making all that noise out there?”
     Jordan knew the dog hadn’t flashed a light in her window, but the one-sided conversation helped calm her nerves. “You look like a nice little fellow.” She rubbed its head and a nameplate on his collar jingled.
     She flipped on the living room light and read the silver nameplate. “This says your name is Tag. I wonder where you came from. Wherever it was, you arrived just in the nick of time. You chased away the bad guy for me. You’re my hero, little fellow.” She scratched the dog under the chin and he licked her hand. “Let’s see if I have a treat for you.”
     The Border Collie followed Jordan into the kitchen. She laid the knife on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge to survey the meager pickings. “I hope you like ham.” She tossed a slice of ham into the canine’s mouth. He swallowed it whole and licked his lips.
The unexpected ring of the telephone startled her.
     “Now what?” she asked Tag. “Excuse me.” He sat obediently on the floor with his tongue hanging out. The bell jangled again. “All right, all right. I’m coming.” She picked it up and quietly said, “Hello?”
     When no one answered, she said “Hello?” again. “Who’s there?”
     The sound of raspy, heavy breathing did her in. Jordan snapped, “I hear you breathing, jerk.” The phone clicked and went dead.
     She slammed the receiver down and gazed at Tag. “Someone’s playing games with me.”
Just then she heard it—a vehicle! Tearing up her driveway, racing toward the house. Flying dirt and rocks zinged off tires and metal, louder and louder. Headlight beams bounced crazily through her front windows. Suddenly the vehicle skid to a halt. A car door banged and footsteps pounded up to the front door.
     Jordan’s heart all but stopped.
     Tag’s ears perked.
     Jordan rushed to the kitchen counter and grabbed the carving knife.
     There was a loud rap on the door and then a deep voice called out, “Jordan! It’s me, Wyatt Brannigan. Your neighbor. Open up!”
     She sighed in relief. Tag dashed to the door and started barking. She stepped to the window and peeked out to be certain it was her neighbor. Assured it really was the tall, good looking man, she unlocked the door and flung it open. Thankful and happy to see his friendly face, she had to fight the urge to throw her arms around him.
     Standing in the brush of moonlight, Brannigan looked like a knight in shining armor.
     “Are you all right?” he asked. His face was lined with concern.
     Tag pawed at his leg and whined. Wyatt looked down and chuckled. “What are you doing over here, boy? I wondered where you went. I’ve been calling you.”
     “This is your dog?” Jordan asked.
     “Yep. I was outside hollering for him. It’s not like Tag not to come when I call. Is it, boy?” Wyatt ruffled the dog’s head, which, to Jordan’s amazement, seemed to smile at his master.
     “I don’t understand. So, you thought to look for him over here?”
     “No, no. A truck came barreling down the road from this direction. It was flying like a bat outta hell. I just got a bad feeling.”
     “Oh. I see. Well, do you want to come in?”
     Wyatt stared at the big knife in her hand. “I have to think about that,” he said with an eyebrow raised.
     Jordan followed his gaze to her hand. “Oh, sorry.” She walked to the kitchen counter and set the knife down once more, then turned back to the living room. “Please, come in and sit down.”
     Wyatt closed the door behind himself, removed his hat and entered. He sunk into the sofa and placed his hat on his lap. Tag coiled into a ball at his feet and started to snore.
Jordan curled into the armchair, tucking her feet under her legs. She told him about the beam of light through the window, the crashing sounds, the truck speeding away, and the hang-up call.
     Wyatt nodded. “Your trash cans are scattered on the ground out by the barn.”
     “You didn’t happen to recognize the pickup when it passed your ranch, did you?”
     He shook his head. “I’m not positive, but I can make a pretty good guess at who it was.”
     “Who?”
     “I think the truck belongs to a man named Joe Campbell.”
     Jordan’s eyes grew wide. “He was one of the men in the café this afternoon. He and another guy were watching my every move. Cole told me they work for Addison Stillwell. And”—she nodded once, firmly—“I know all about Mr. Stillwell.”
     Wyatt honed in on the other man. “Cole? You mean Cole Roberts?”
     “Yes. You know him?”
     “Sure, I know him. Tularosa is a very small town.” He chuckled again. “So, you struck up a conversation with Cole Roberts in the café?”
     “Well, he talked to me first. I was just being polite.”
     “Sure. All the pretty ladies are polite to Cole.”
     Jordan squared her jaw. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
     “Oh, nothing. I just never see Cole Roberts talking to any ugly women, that’s all.”
     “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” The hint of a smile formed on her lips.
     “I didn’t mean anything by it. Forget I said it. Now, back to these men—one was white, one was Mexican?”
     “Yes. Cole said their names were Joe Campbell and Cinnamon.”
     “Cimarron.” Wyatt corrected her with a crooked grin. “Joe Campbell and Cimarron Cruz. They’re a couple of petty criminals. Worth less than the crap on the bottom of my boots.” He leaned forward and delved deep into her eyes. “Stillwell didn’t waste any time, and he hasn’t even introduced himself to you yet.”
     “I’ve only been in town a few hours,” she reminded him. His electric blue eyes stirred something within her.
     “I think the pranks tonight were just an appetizer. It might not be long before Stillwell makes a personal house call.”
     “That’s exactly what Cole said!”
     “Is that so? I guess great minds think alike.”
     “Seems that way,” she agreed.
     The man’s eyes traveled to her tee shirt and down to her bare knees. Jordan suddenly became aware of the way she was dressed. Or rather, not dressed. She wondered how noticeable her breasts were beneath her sleep shirt. As if on cue, her nipples became erect.
She crossed her arms across her chest like a protective shield.
     Wyatt blinked and looked away, but not before his lips split into a grin.
     Her cheeks flamed crimson. At least he could pretend not to notice.
     “They won’t be back tonight,” he said confidently. He slapped his knees and twisted his neck to look into the kitchen. “Got any coffee on the stove?”
     Jordan’s mouth gaped. Calmly, she replied, “Nope. Sorry. This diner’s closed for the night.”
     “I’ll take a rain check then,” he said pleasantly as he rose from the sofa. He plopped his hat on his head and bent down to rouse his sleeping dog. “Come on, Tag. Let’s go before we wear out our welcome.”
     Tag opened one sleepy eye at a time and then stood up and stretched his legs. He walked over and prodded Jordan’s knee with his nose.
     “Bye, bye, Tag,” she said, patting his head. “You can come visit me anytime.”
     She frowned, wondering how she was going to get out of the chair—in the position she was in—without showing her neighbor all that was underneath her sleep shirt.
     He smiled knowingly. “I’ll show myself out.”
     Tag followed his master to the door. Wyatt tipped his hat as he filled up the threshold. “Good night, Jordan. Sleep well. I’ll check on you tomorrow—see how you’re faring.”
     “Oh, all right. If you want. Good night. Thank you for coming over,” she called, as an afterthought.
     “Just being neighborly, ma’am,” he said before closing the door.
     His boots crunched across the broken pieces of sidewalk as he strode to his truck. When Jordan heard the truck door squeak open, she stretched out her legs and rubbed her feet, which had gone to sleep. Finally able to stand, she locked the door and flipped off the living room light.
     The old springs creaked under her weight as she crawled back into the iron bed. She fluffed up her pillow and curled on her side. Within minutes she was drifting off, and a pleasant image floated through her mind. A tanned face with sparkling blue eyes and crooked grin. Mr. Brannigan.