Read Online Ride a Painted Pony (Superromance) by Carolyn McSparren - Free Book Online Page A

favors.” He drove past the courthouse and slowed by the park. “With luck, we’ll be back at Rounders before the cops show up.” He glanced at her. “You look different.”
    “From your mouth to God’s ear.” She settled her black fedora at an even more rakish angle and shoved her oversize sunglasses up on her nose. “The hat’s a cliché, but it’s the only one I own. Better than nothing. I would prefer the doorman at The Peabody not be able to identify me to Danny. If Danny finds out, he’s going to go ballistic.”
    “Could you lose your license?”
    “Not at all. He can’t bring charges. He’ll just rant and rave a little. He has a terrible temper, but he gets over it quickly. We’re not really interfering with the investigation. Who says that ticket has anything to do with the corpse? We’ll know after we check it out. Then we make sure Danny gets it.”
    He glanced over at her. She wore a black cashmere blazer over a black turtleneck sweater, dark gray wool trousers and high-heeled suede boots. She also wore makeup, black kid gloves and broad gold hoop earrings.
    “My usual ratty jeans and running shoes are in my gym bag in the back, but they’d stand out where we’re going, particularly if the car we’re picking up is a Caddy or a BMW. This way I look like all the other businesswomen leaving for a day of pharmaceutical sales or marketing meetings. Hopefully they won’t remember me when I bring the car back.”
    “I’d remember you. Unless those guys are blind and deaf, they’ll remember you too.”
    She gazed at him curiously. “Is that a compliment?”
    “You might say that. You’d do better with padding, buck teeth and a wig. Even then you’d probably stand out.”
    “That’s because I’m tall.”
    He chuckled. “That too.”
    He waltzed the little truck through traffic with practiced ease. In the morning light Taylor could see that the hands that had so sensitively rolled that wooden pear last evening were not merely large, they were rough—with broad fingers and tufts of fine dark hair on the knuckles. An artisan’s hands.
    She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “Exchanging cars with your partner was smart. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”
    Nick grinned and avoided a Toyota that recklessly cut in front of him. “The Rounders truck was painted to be showy. Besides, it’s the biggest pickup made. Maybe I have a flare for this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
    Taylor looked at his profile. Maybe you do, she thought. I hope you’re not cloak-and-daggering me.
    “Let’s hope nobody strips Max’s Lexus before we get back. He loves that car just slightly less than he does his son and grandson.”
    “Pull over right there,” Taylor said. “I’ll walk through the lobby and out the back.”
    Twenty minutes later, she slid a silver-gray Mercury sedan into a space between her truck and Max’s Lexus.
    Nick came toward her from the bank of the Mississippi. The early morning sun turned his hair into a sable pelt. Strip him down—now that was an interesting image—put buckskin britches on him and he’d turn into one of the old-time mountain men right before her eyes. She squinted and tried to imagine him in buckskins. Disquieting. Have to be made from a very large buck.
    She squirmed on the seat uncomfortably, blinked to bring herself back to the present, and climbed out of the sedan.
    “Here, put these on.” She handed him a pair of surgical gloves. “And don’t lean on anything. She pushed the button for the trunk lid, then popped the glove compartment, reached in and pulled out a handful of papers. “Damn.” She handed the documents to Nick.
    The registration was in the name of Clara Fields Eberhardt of Oxford, Mississippi, and signed by Helmut Eberhardt, spouse.
    The sun dipped behind a cloud. Nick covered the fluttering paper with his hand and held it against the hood of the car. Taylor grabbed at her fedora as it lifted from her head.
    The bright autumn