Patience’s Boston apartment sat ten blocks from the campus, perfect biking distance, except in winter when the snow made the roads icy and the temperature dropped below zero. But most of the year, she enjoyed the exercise and the chance to spend time outdoors.
The two-story building, red brick with white trim, housed six separate apartments. Unit C sat upstairs, a one-bedroom she had decorated herself in navy and white, very traditional with a camel-back sofa and chair, maple tables with doilies under the lamps, and yellow and navy accents in the kitchen.
It was homey, she thought, as she glanced into the living room to see Snickers’s furry little black and white body curled up on the sofa. It was homey, but except for her cat, it no longer felt like home.
It was insane to miss a stupid, crowded, pain-in-the-neck RV trailer, but Shari had been there to keep her company, and Stormy and Dallas had traveled with them. She shook her head, not allowing her thoughts to stray in that direction. Her heart ached every time they did, but, oh, it had been a grand adventure.
She had only been home two weeks, but in that short time she had passed the final oral exam for her Ph.D. with flying colors and now just waited for official word. Tyler had kept his distance. She never found out if he was the one who had burglarized her apartment but she heard he was dating someone new and his friends said he was madly in love. Though the news filled her with relief, Patience pitied the latest object of his affections.
Her job at Evergreen had started a few days after her return and she was enjoying it. Teaching in the upper levels had always been her dream and standing in front of the class instead of sitting in one of the seats hadn’t posed as big an adjustment as she had feared.
In that regard, her return had been easy.
Forgetting Dallas Kingman had been impossibly hard.
Patience sighed as the phone rang. It was Saturday, almost noon. The phone line had been ringing off the hook all morning. First Charity, then her stepmom, Tracy. Her father had called, and now, as she pressed the phone to her ear, she recognized the voice of her eldest sister, Hope.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?” Hope’s cheery voice did nothing to improve Patience’s mood.
“All right, I guess.”
“Soooo…You’re saying you still feel like shit.” Hope never minced words. And she was usually right on the money.
“Yeah, I feel like shit.” Since she rarely swore, her sister had to know how bad she really felt.
“You’ll get over him,” Hope said. “What else can you do, right? Forgodsake, the guy’s a cowboy. He catches cows and things. You’re a professor.”
“Not quite.”
“Well, associate professor, okay? The point is, once you get into the school year, you’ll meet some nice guy on the faculty and fall in love all over again. When that happens, you’ll have a lot better chance of making it work.”
“I suppose.” At least that was the way she’d always thought it would be. When the time came, she would meet someone—the right someone. They would fall in love, get married, and eventually have a family. “It’s just that…”
“Just what?”
“God, it hurts so much.”
Silence fell on the line. Patience figured Hope was thinking of Richard Daley, the man she had loved and lost. But Richard was a major-league rat and Dallas wasn’t. Which, in her estimation, made losing him a whole lot worse.
“I know it hurts,” Hope said gently. “But you’ll get past it—I promise.”
But Patience wasn’t sure Hope had ever really gotten over Richard, and she didn’t think she was going to get over Dallas anytime soon. They hung up the phone and Patience swallowed past the lump in her throat.
She was in love with Dallas Kingman. Still, not once had she considered returning to the life Dallas lived. It wasn’t her life. It never would be.
A second sigh escaped. Determined to think of something else, Patience sat down at her computer, which rested on a small maple desk in the corner of the bedroom. Earlier, when she had checked her e-mail, she had discovered an interesting note from Constance Foster, her friend at the Cowgirl Hall of Fame.
Patience clicked on the e-mail from [email protected] and reread the note.
I’ve got something for you. Call me as soon as you can.
Patience had immediately phoned, but Constance worked Monday through Friday and Patience didn’t have her home number. She typed in a reply, hoping this was her home e-mail address and not her address at work, put in her Boston phone number, and clicked on
Send.
Three minutes later, the telephone rang.
“Patience?”
“Constance—I’m so glad you got my message.”
“Sorry, I should have given you my home number.”
“So, what did you find out?”
“I’m not exactly sure if this is connected to the murders you’ve been working on, but I really think it could be. I ran across an article in the
Colorado Springs Gazette.
In July of nineteen-eighteen, a cowgirl named Bea Crandall, a relay rider, claimed she was attacked by a man who had asked her out to supper after the rodeo.”
“He tried to kill her?”
“That’s what Bea said. Unfortunately for Purcell—that’s the man’s name, Barton Purcell—he picked on the wrong woman. Bea was carrying a little pocket pistol, a derringer of some kind. She shot the old boy and killed him right on the spot.”
Patience’s heart started thumping. “I can’t believe it.” Was it possible the man who attacked Bea Crandall was the same man who had killed Lucky Sims? “You say this happened in Colorado Springs?”
“That’s right. Monday when I get to work, I’ll scan in what I’ve got and attach it to an e-mail.”
“That would be terrific, Connie. This is really exciting news. I think there’s a very good chance it’s connected to the other two murders.”
“Do you think there’s any way you’ll be able to prove it?”
“I don’t know. I’m certainly going to try.” She hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair. She wished Dallas were here so she could tell him what Connie had discovered and get any thoughts he might have. Since that wasn’t going to happen, she opened her desk drawer, dragged out her file on Lucky Sims and Gracie McGuiness, and set to work.
Dallas was bronc riding again. He was calf roping, too, trying to get his winnings up before the slots were filled for the Finals, but doing a damned poor job. It was mid-September. He and Stormy had joined up again in Ellensburg, Washington, then traveled to the Puyallup show. But Stormy wasn’t doing much winning, either.
Woman trouble does that to a man,
Charlie had said.
This afternoon, they were competing in the Pendleton Roundup, a prior contract Charlie was able to fulfill, now that he was back to work.
Not that he seemed happy about it. Although he was as conscientious as always and the rodeo was going very well, most of the time he grumbled and growled and generally got on everyone’s nerves. It was obvious he would rather be in Texas, back at the ranch with Annie.
Dallas had a feeling that once his uncle’s commitments were fulfilled through the end of the year, he would probably sell the production company and get out of the rodeo business for good.
Charlie missed his wife. And Stormy was having his share of troubles as well. He had phoned Shari a couple of times, but she always kept the conversations brief. She had started back to school, was doing well in her classes. Once she had cried, Stormy said, and told him that she missed him. Then she wouldn’t take his calls again for the rest of the week.
Stormy’s mood was as black as Charlie’s, and Dallas’s was even worse. The one thing he had learned over the summer was how rare and precious real love was. If there was any way in hell he could make things work with Patience, he would have married her.
Or at least, he would have asked.
Even if he had, Patience would have said no, which didn’t make getting over her any easier.
“Hey, Dallas!” Jade Egan walked toward him in a flashy, red sequined barrel-racing outfit, this one sporting red fringe. “You seen Stormy anywhere around?”
A muscle tightened in his cheek as his looked at the woman in front of him. “He’s over by the trailer, saddling Gus for the calf roping.” Jade had her claws bared, hoping to sink them into Stormy, and Dallas didn’t like it. With Shari gone, his friend was too vulnerable, his feelings too raw. If Stormy could just take Jade to bed, it would probably be good for him. Lord knew, the woman could make a guy feel ten feet tall. She could also bring a man to his knees, and Stormy didn’t need any more heartache.
Dallas headed for his trailer. Lobo needed to be saddled as well. It would be nice to win some money. He focused his mind in that direction and tried to keep Patience out of his thoughts.
In the end, he caught his steer but missed the loop with his pigging string and the calf came untied. No time. No score. No money.
He’d make up for it in the bronc riding, he told himself. But when his horse came out of the chute, he happened to glance toward the announcer’s stand where a tall, leggy blonde stood next to Charlie. For an instant, he thought it was Patience and his heart nearly stopped beating.
But the woman wasn’t Patience and the horse took a big, sideways leap to let him know how stupid he was for thinking it might be and piled him into the dirt.
Charlie was waiting as he walked out of the arena. “Dammit, boy. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
A faint flush rose across the bones in his cheeks. “I got sidetracked, that’s all.”
“Now you listen here, son. You wanna win that title, you gotta get rid of all that stuff you’re carryin’ around with you and think about riding. Only riding. You hear what I’m tellin’ you, son?”
Dallas nodded. Charlie was right. The problem was, he didn’t much care. Somewhere along with losing Patience he had also lost the will to win. None of his goals seemed to matter the way they had before. He didn’t care if he rode or didn’t, didn’t care if he won or lost.
And he didn’t know if he would ever care again.
Patience couldn’t sleep. It had been another long week. It was late Saturday night, two o’clock in the morning, and she lay there staring up at the molding on the ceiling. In the darkness, her mind tumbled with memories, thoughts of Dallas she couldn’t seem to shake. The first time she’d seen him ride, how hard she had tried to dislike him. She remembered their first kiss and the time he had taken her to Houston, the look in his eyes when she had told him she thought she was frigid. The notion brought a smile to her lips.
He had taught her so much about loving. Dallas had awakened her desires, allowed her to become the passionate woman she had discovered herself to be, and she would always be grateful to him for it.
She remembered him at the ranch, how different he seemed there, how much more content. She had loved it there, too, loved the wildness, the heat, and the lush green rolling hills. He loved her, he had said, and Patience believed him. A man like Dallas Kingman did not lie.
Patience blinked into the darkness, trying to force down the lump in her throat. There was no use crying. She had done enough of that already. And in time, she would start feeling better. At least that’s what her family said.
Earlier in the day, her father had dropped by to see her. He had been worried, she knew.
“I know you loved this man. It’s obvious losing him has broken your heart.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“You will, if that’s what you want.” They were standing in front of the stove in the kitchen, waiting for the tea kettle to boil.
“I know Dallas Kingman isn’t the man you planned to fall in love with, that you hoped for the sort of relationship I once had with your mother, the kind I was fortunate again to find with your stepmother. I can’t help thinking you’re right, that marrying a man who fits into your life the way Tracy fits into mine would make you happier in the long run. But it’s possible I’m wrong. Sometimes people who come from different worlds can find happiness together. They find a way to make their marriages work.”
“Name one,” Patience said.
“Well, let’s see…How about our friends, Tom Shapiro and his wife, Mary Ann? Tom’s a CPA and Mary Ann’s an interior designer but they’re still one of the happiest couples I know.”
Patience rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s quite the same, Dad.”
Her father’s lips faintly curved. “Well, maybe it isn’t, but I know there must be people who are happy. If you love him enough—”
“Please, Dad—don’t.”
The tea kettle whistled and she reached into the cupboard to get each of them a cup.
“You know all Tracy and I want is for you to be happy,” her father said. “That’s all that matters to us.”
Patience set the mugs down on the counter, leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I know it is, Dad.”
Her father meant well, but the visit had only made her feel worse. What if she was wrong? What if Dallas was exactly the right man for her and she was making the biggest mistake of her life? Hours had passed but she was still haunted by the thought.
The red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand glowed into the darkness. More wide awake than ever, Patience shoved her rumpled hair out of her face and swung her legs to the side of the bed. Padding over to her computer, she sat down and flipped on the switch, waited for the screen to light up, then clicked up her e-mail.
She hadn’t talked to Shari since her return to Boston, but they had e-mailed each other every few days. Patience opened her address book and found [email protected], then began to compose a new message:
It’s the middle of the night. I can’t stop thinking about him. Hope you’re doing better than I am.
To her amazement, a few minutes later, a little musical note went off, signaling she had incoming mail. It came from Shari.
Can’t believe you’re up, too. Ain’t loving someone a bitch?
Patience smiled at the words and started typing.
I’m glad you’re here. I needed a friend tonight. I sure miss the good times we had.