Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)(4)

First things first, Nikki. Get some sleep. Get to Sheridan. Sign whatever you have to. See him properly buried. Then, get the hell out of Montana. It seemed like a solid plan.

Nikki was the sole passenger when the shuttle pulled up in front of a brightly lit entrance to the hotel lobby. With an exhausted groan, she dragged her bags inside and up to the front desk. Surely a hot shower and a clean bed would make everything right again.

“Hi, I’m Nicole Powell.” She greeted the night clerk with a weary smile. “I called a few minutes ago from the airport.”

“Welcome to the Holiday Inn Express, Miss Powell,” he replied. “I’ll be happy to check you in. All I need is a credit card.”

“No problem.” Nikki plopped her purse on the counter and fished inside, but her blindly groping fingers failed to encounter anything approximating calfskin. “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to find my wallet. Just another minute, OK? It’s a new bag.” She fully opened the mouth of the leather abyss and reached inside again, only to come up short for a second time.

With rising panic, Nikki dumped her entire bag on the counter.

Two sets of keys, miscellaneous makeup items, a cell phone, address book, Tampax, and her checkbook—many of the same things she’d collected when they’d spilled out under the seat of the airplane. But no wallet.

She shook the bag upside down in disbelief. Oh shit! She’d lost her damned wallet on the plane! With a flushed face and shaking hands, she began cramming everything back into her purse. “I’m sorry. I seem to have lost my wallet. Will you take a check?”

“Certainly. I just need a driver’s license and credit card.”

“But I don’t have them. My license and credit cards were in my wallet.”

The clerk shook his head with an impassive expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Powell. We can’t accept a personal check without proper identification.”

“But I need a room. Surely there’s something we can work out.”

“Is there someone you can call? A friend or family member?”

Nikki stared at him, scrambling to make sense of this situation. She was stranded at a motel in Bozeman, Montana, without a room, money, or identification. Worse, there wasn’t a soul she could think of to help her in the middle of the night. Her mother was out of the question. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken. Since her grandparents died, her sister Shelby was the only family member she’d maintained any contact with, but Shelby was a total screwup. There was no one.

“No.” Nikki shook her head.

“Do you have any business associates, perhaps?”

“Look, I only have two numbers, the Sheridan mortuary and a law office. Do you really think either one is going to answer the phone at this time of night?”

His smile thinned. “I’m sorry, but we can’t accommodate you without payment. This is a hotel. We are in business to sell rooms.”

Overcome with a growing sense of helplessness, Nikki turned away to dig desperately inside her purse for her cell phone. Not putting much stock in the mortuary, she decided to try the lawyer. Finding the number, she punched it on a whispered prayer.

*

Wade’s lids were drooping, and his vision blurring when the sound of his tires bumping the road reflectors jarred him fully alert. He swore aloud and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs. Where the hell was he anyway? Wyoming? Yeah, now he remembered. He’d just passed through Casper—the halfway point. The caffeine had already worn off and he still had a good five hours to go.

By now he was cursing both Hot Ass for provoking his stupid act of chivalry and his Momma for raising him to be a gentleman. Would he have given up his seat if the girl had been old or ugly? Yeah, on the first account anyway. His grandma would roll over in her grave if he’d let some elderly woman get stranded. But ugly was a matter for debate. Attractive women made fools of men.

The vibration of his phone suddenly jolted him. He jerked it out of his holster, noting the unfamiliar area code with a scowl. Who the devil outside his family, or maybe Allie, would be calling him at this ungodly hour?

“Wade here,” he growled, half expecting a wrong number.

“Excuse me?” a female voice responded. “I was trying to reach Evans and Knowlton Law Firm.”

“This is Wade Knowlton of Evans and Knowlton.”

“Thank God!” she answered with a near-sob.

“Look, ma’am, this is my private line and it’s after midnight. I suggest you call me back tomorrow during normal business hours.” He paused. “How did you even get this number anyway?”

“Your office had a recording to call this number in the event of an emergency. This is an urgent matter.”

“It had better be life or death,” he warned. His response was ill-tempered and lacked his normal courtesy, but he was dog tired.

“It is.” She paused. “Well, death anyway.”

“All right, you’ve got my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?”

“I have an emergency.”

“I thought we’d already established that, Miss—”

“I’m so sorry—I thought I said. This is Nicole Powell.”

“Powell? Sorry. Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“My father is…was…Raymond Powell. He just passed away. You were recommended by the Sheridan mortuary.”