Steal Me, Cowboy by Kim Boykin Page A

Are you good people?”
    “If you’re asking if I’d help Rainey, the answer is yes.”
    “Please. Don’t.”
    She looked down at the croissants and then at Beck. “You like that girl?”
    “Yeah, I do. I don’t want her to leave. Not for good.”
    “I’m not sure it’s right not to help her, but from the looks of it, you’re better than that baseball player guy. She’s told me a little about him—girl talk you know. Sounds like an asshole to me.”
    “So you won’t help her?”
    She popped the rest of her croissant in her mouth and then licked her fingers. “Promise me some more of the chocolate ones, and it’s a deal.”
    “Thanks, Nell, you’ve got them. As many as you want. For life.”
     

     
    Each morning the motel clerk swiped my Visa card with the tiny credit limit for the room rental, or I bought a meal, I held my breath. I knew it was close to being maxed out. And every time I even thought about those cute wedges I put on the card before I left Columbia, I wanted to kick myself for buying them.
    Nell put the sandwich sign on the sidewalk out front, and I re-counted the money in the pickle jar. After I did the wedding party tomorrow, I’d only need $217.89, and I was hoping for a big tip from the bride’s mama. Audrey promised she’d tell everyone at the fancy hotel where she was staying about me, even the concierge. So, with some walk-ins, there should be more than enough money to pay Dillon.
    At one point during the day, all five dryers were going with silver heads. I guess Nell must have told her friends about me, but then it was odd because I heard her on the phone turning customers away. A tourist came in to have her hair braided. She’d chosen one of those intricate waterfall designs that takes forever, but since it wasn’t on the menu, I was able to charge what I would normally had charged—fifty bucks. With the money from the wedding, I’d be about a hundred bucks short. If there was no tip.
    Five o’clock rolled around and Nell was ready to go home. I’d hoped she’d keep the shop open for walk-ins but she just gave me a look when I asked if she was sure she was ready to go. I went through the pickle jar for the daily count. “After the wedding tomorrow, I may still be short, Nell. I know you don’t open on Saturdays and Sundays, but would it be okay if I came in after I’m done with the wedding party? Might get a few walk-ins.”
    I was sure she would say no, but she didn’t. Just mumbled something about croissants and grabbed her great big pocket book. “Here’s the key. You’ll have to lock up and run the key by before you leave.”
    “Well you know I’d come by and hug your neck. Say goodbye.”
     

     
    My cell buzzed in my skirt pocket. I dug it out hoping it would be Adam. Or Beck.
    “Hey Rainey, last night in Marietta, huh?”
    “Yeah, Dillon. What are you up to?”
    “Wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink—with me. I’m heading over to Group Therapy, it’s a cool bar. You’d like it.”
    I couldn’t afford free bar nuts much less a drink. “Thanks, Dillon, but I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Better not.”
    “If you change your mind. Just call me, I’ll come pick you up.”
    “Thanks. That’s sweet of you.” I ended the call and checked my phone for the umpteenth time. Nothing, Not even a text from Adam. Or Beck.
    When I was at work, I tried hard not to think of Beck, but it seemed my thoughts always came back to him. When Nell and I were sitting at our stations, waiting for customers, and chatting, I watched for his car or his truck. And let me tell you there are a lot of white trucks in Marietta, Montana.
    I had just fallen asleep when my cell phone rang. Beck. I shouldn’t have answered it. “Hey.”
    “So what are you doing your last night in town?”
    “Let’s see, I took a bath for an hour. Painted my toenails a different color. What about you?”
    “I thought about you all day.”
    “Beck, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
    “I