Guardian Cowboy

“Anything country,” she replied.

“Favorite flower?”

“Pink roses. When I went to my first school dance, my date didn’t know he was supposed to get me a corsage. My dad ran to the florist and got me a beautiful corsage of pink roses. They remind me of love.”

“Favorite place to hang out in Bitterroot?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “The courtyard in the center of town is a nice place to sit and relax.”

Then it was her turn to fire questions at him. She learned that spring was his favorite season and he loved the sound of a redbird’s song. His favorite time of day was evening and he’d broken his arm when the other guys had dared him to ride a bull named Cowboy Crusher.

They spent a half hour firing all kinds of questions to each other. She was disappointed when their cups were empty and it was time to leave. But she knew work time came early for him at the ranch.

As she got into his truck, nervous butterflies took flight in the pit of her stomach. Now was the time of reckoning. She had to tell him that nothing had happened between them last night.

“This has been nice,” he said when they were a block away from the bar. “I feel like we sort of jumped the gun last night and now we need to work backward and get to know each other better.”

She gazed at him in the illumination of the dashboard. “Sawyer...about last night,” she began. She turned her gaze out the front window, unable to look at him while she made her confession. As his headlights splashed across the back of the bar, she gasped in horror.

* * *

Sawyer stared at the white paint sprayed across the dark wood of the building. The letters were huge—Janis Little is a Whore.

What the hell? Was this because of what had happened last night? Who else had known that he’d spent the night in her bed besides a couple of his friends?

Janis began to cry. “Oh, my God...wh-who would do this?” she said between her gulping sobs. “I... I’m not a whore. I’m not.”

She turned to look at him and in her eyes he saw not only shock and hurt, but also a fierce denial of the characterization the words gave her.

“Janis, of course you’re not...” he began in an attempt to calm her down. He turned off his headlights so the words were no longer visible in the darkness of the night.

“I’ve only had one lover in my whole life. Only one, and I’m thirty years old. You’re the one and only man who has ever stayed in my room overnight. I wasn’t a whore when I was growing up and I’m not a whore now.” Anything else she might have had to say was made impossible as she buried her face in her hands and wept in earnest.

“Janis, nobody believes you’re a whore,” he said. “I mean, nobody I know believes that.” It was true. He had never heard any hint or whisper of a rumor about Janis being loose and wild. “This is the work of some no-count creep. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s cleaned up before morning, but first we need to call Dillon.”

Dillon Bowie was the chief of police for the small town. More recently he had become the husband of Cassie, who owned the ranch Sawyer called home.

“And I should call Gary,” she said as she drew in several deep breaths in an obvious effort to push back her tears.

Gary Runyon owned the bar and Sawyer agreed that he should be called, as well.

The minute the calls had been made, Janis got out of the truck. Sawyer quickly followed her. She stood with her back to him and stared at the building where the letters were faintly visible in the illumination from a nearby streetlight.

He could hear that she was still softly crying and could see that her entire body visibly trembled. “Janis,” he said softly as he grabbed her by one arm and turned her around to face him.

She instantly came into his arms and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her in an effort to somehow comfort her.

“Nobody will see this except us and Dillon and Gary,” he said. “I’ll make sure it’s painted over by morning. I promise.”

“But why would somebody do this to me?” Her breath was a warm caress against his neck. She released a small laugh that had nothing to do with her being amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think my mother was behind this.”

“Your mother?” Shock swept through him.

She shook her head. “Never mind. Like I said earlier, it’s a long story for another time.”

What kind of story could make a woman believe her mother was capable of doing something like this? Sawyer couldn’t imagine. “Come on, let’s get back in the truck to wait. It’s cold out here.”

They got back in the truck, where he started the engine to get some heat blowing from the vents.

“I’m sorry, Janis,” he said.

She turned and looked at him in surprise. “Why are you sorry?”

“I feel partially responsible for this. It probably wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t spent the night with you last night.”

“I’m a grown woman and I have a right to a personal life without somebody judging me for it. This is just so embarrassing...and...and it’s vile. I hope Dillon finds the person responsible,” she replied.

Sawyer didn’t want to tell her that he seriously doubted Dillon would be able to catch the culprit. In any case, at that moment Dillon arrived, his lights whirling blue and red across the building.

Sawyer and Janis got out of the truck as Dillon departed his police car. “Nasty piece of work,” he said in greeting. He looked at Janis. “Any idea who might be responsible?”

She shook her head. “None. I can’t imagine who would do something like this.”

“I, uh... I spent the night with Janis last night,” Sawyer said. “Maybe that has something to do with it?”

“Janis’s business should be nobody else’s business,” Dillon replied. “You’re both consenting adults.”

“Wait...maybe I do know somebody who would do something like this. Last night at work I poured a beer in Zeke Osmond’s lap,” Janis said.

“Was it an accident or on-purpose spill?” Dillon asked.

“On purpose,” she replied. “He kept grabbing my backside and I’d finally had enough.” Her gaze went back to the building. “He was definitely angry enough at me to do something like this.”

“Or maybe you have a secret admirer who didn’t like the idea of you being with Sawyer,” Dillon said in speculation. “I’m going to look around to see if I can find a paint can that might have been discarded. But, honestly, there isn’t much I can do about this.”

Gary Runyon’s van pulled into the parking lot. Gary was a big man, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He and his wife, Abigail, had recently celebrated their twenty-seventh wedding anniversary. They had two daughters.

“Gary, I’m so sorry,” Janis said. “Please don’t let me go.”

“Let you go? You mean fire you?” He shook his head. “Janis, honey, did you paint the back of my building?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she replied.

“Then why on earth would I let you go? You’re the best damned bar manager anyone could have.” The big man nodded at Sawyer and then walked over to Dillon, who had begun his paint can hunt.

Sawyer flung an arm over Janis’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“As okay as I can be,” she replied as she moved even closer to his side. She looked over to where Dillon was walking around and Gary was on his cell phone. “Dillon isn’t going to be able to find out who did this, is he?”