Authors: Shirlee Busbee
“Why? Like I said, this sure isn't the kind of place one would expect the exalted
Roxanne
of fame and fortune to buy. Now, a mansion in San Francisco, where you could invite all your famous friends and hold wild bashes, yeah, I could see that. But here? A dead dope-grower's digs in the middle of nowhere? Don't tell me you're thinking of turning your hand to growing a little marijuana on the side?” Coolly, he added, “Not your style, Princess.”
Who the hell was he, Roxanne thought furiously, to look down that oh-so-handsome nose of his at her? Most people, especially men, fell over themselves trying to attract her attention, but not Jeb. Oh, no. Hecouldn't even be polite. And the contempt in his voice when he called her “Princess”.…She squirmed, feeling seventeen again and hating him with all that same thwarted fury. Her jaw tightened. What right did he have to condemn her lifestyle? She was a big girl now. All grown-up. She'd like to bloody that handsome nose of his and slap that cool expression on his face into next week.
Knowing she was getting herself all in a snit over nothing, she took a deep calming breath. She'd tried to be polite. OK, not much, but she'd made the effort and what did she get for it? Disparaging remarks and insults. “Is this an official inquiry?” she asked tightly. “Otherwise, my reasons are my own and I don't have to share them with you. In fact, get off my property.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You know, someday someone is going to teach you some manners.”
Her lip curled. “You volunteering?”
His gaze swept over her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Maybe.”
He swung on his heels and climbed into the truck. The engine snarled to life and with more force than necessary, he spun the vehicle around and nosed it down the hill.
For several minutes after he'd left, Roxanne stood there staring at nothing. What the hell was the matter with her? With anyone else, she would have offered a smile, refreshments, and the hand of friendship. She bit her lip. So why not with Jeb? Because I'm a bitch? Nah. Because he's a jerk. Pleased with her conclusion, she headed for the greenhouses.
It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but already the heat was savage—by noon, every living thing, plant and animal alike, would be gasping for relief—relief that wouldn't come until the sun set. Despite her brief apparel, Roxanne still felt the heat and after walking a couple of hundred yards in the direction of greenhouses decided she'd put off investigating them until early tomorrow morning. Before it got hot. She grimaced. Yeah. Right.
She started back to the cabin when a rustling in the heavy brush to her right had her freezing in her steps. Visions of bears and cougars leaped to her mind—she knew the area abounded with them—and she cursed herself for not carrying some sort of weapon. Even a big stick would have been a comfort at the moment. Trying to remember everything she'd ever known about confronting a bear or a mountain lion, she faced the direction of the noise and edged backward toward the cabin.
The noise grew fearsome and just when she was certain she couldn't stand the suspense any longer, a horse and rider, followed by three dusty, panting cow dogs, burst into view.
Recognizing the wiry rider, a battered beige cowboy hat on his head, Roxanne's heartbeat slowed to normal and a welcoming smile lit her face. “Acey Babbitt!” she exclaimed. “You nearly gave me a heartattack. I was certain that a bear had me in mind for breakfast.”
Acey grinned, blue eyes bright in his sun-worn face. “And a tasty meal you would have made.” Beneath an impressive pair of white handlebar mustaches, he smacked his lips. “Yes, ma'am, you do look good enough to eat—even to an old cowpoke like me.”
She chuckled. “Why, Mr. Babbitt, are you putting the moves on little ole me?”
“Might…if I were twenty years younger and you were twenty years older,” he said, wriggling his bushy white eyebrows. “Of course, if you don't mind a fellow who creaks when he walks, I'd sure be still willing to give it a try.”
Roxanne laughed again, not at all fooled by his hopeful expression. Acey Babbitt was seventy-five years old if he was a day and one of the dearest men Roxanne had ever known—and one of the biggest teases. His prowess with cattle and horses alike was legendary and throughout his long career, at one time or another, he had worked for almost every ranch in the valley, including the Ballingers. Just about every kid in the valley, including herself and her siblings, had learned to ride under Acey's gentle but steely guidance. And while he may have worked for others, his first loyalty had always been to the Grangers. She knew he was living in the apartment over the barn at the Granger place and that he was working for Shelly, Sloan's wife.
“OK, enough lecherous talk—you've convinced me that you're hell on wheels,” she said with a smile. “What brings you out here?”
Acey made a face. “One of them fine expensive cows that Shelly brought out from Texas is due to calve and clanged if she didn't find the only break in a fence for miles around. We discovered it last night about dark. Wasn't much we could do about it then, but Nick and I have been out since before daybreak trying to track her down.”
Roxanne frowned. “Wouldn't she head for gentler ground? Toward the valley? My place is so rough, I'm certain goats would turn up their noses at it, let alone a cow ready to calve.”
“Don't want to hurt your feelings none, but you're right about that—this has to be some of the roughest ground I've ridden in many a day and I didn't really have much hope of finding her. We figured right off that she'd head down to the valley, but we didn't find any tracks leading in that direction. For the last hour or two, we've been working up and down the ridge, hoping to see sign of her. No such luck so far.”
“Well, I'll keep my eye open, but I don't think she'll come this way.”
“If you do see her, just give the house a call. Nick's got an answering machine.” He paused. “You got a phone out here?”
“Cell phone. The magic of modern technology.”
He glanced around. “I heard you'd bought the Aston place. Couldn't hardly believe it.” His sharp blue eyes came back to her. “What're you going to do with it?”
“Not grow marijuana,” she snapped, her eyes glittering.
Acey held up a hand. “All right. All right. I just had to pry some.” He bent his gaze on her. “You've been gone a long time, Roxy. Lived in New York and all them other fancy places. You were always too damned pretty for your own good, but you were always a good kid. I figure you still are, but there are some folks who are a bit more suspicious. Lots of talk in the valley about what you're gonna do up here.” He smiled at her. “Glad I'll be able to put their minds at rest.”
“Are you serious?” she asked, astounded. “People really think I came home from New York to grow marijuana?”
Acey pulled on his ear. “No one with any sense…but you know, we got a few poor souls in the valley that got shortchanged in life—they have more feathers in their heads than brains. Don't let it bother you none.”
“Did you know Dirk Aston?”
“Not real well. And no, I don't know if he grew marijuana up here or not. I do know that he ran with some rough fellows with bad reputations—Milo Scott, for one, but it wasn't none of my business. If you're real curious, you might talk to Jeb. I know he's a detective these days and isn't doing patrol anymore, but he knows more about what goes on in these hills than just anyone else.” Acey wiggled his brows. “Except for maybe me. All kidding aside, you should talk to Jeb. He's a good man. A good deputy.”
“Could we please talk about something else besides Deputy Delaney—I just ate.”
Acey shrugged, but there was a little gleam in his eyes. “Sure. Anything else you want to know before I slope off?”
“I heard that Dirk Aston was murdered, shot, in Oakland. That he was involved in some sort of turf war? Is that true? Or just more gossip?”
“Maybe he was. And maybe he wasn't. Like Jeb says, Aston could have been just a victim of circumstances. Nothing to prove it either way. The way I hear it, drive-by shootings happen all the time—especially in the area of Oakland where he was found. Could have been that Dirk was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's my take on it and the take of just about anyone with any brains. Dirk was small-time. Liked to talk big and act tough, but no one paid any attention to him. And as for any gossip about you growing marijuana up here …” He shook his head. “That's just plain foolishness. And anyone who knows you knows it.”
“Thanks, Acey. I needed to hear that.” Especially, she thought to herself, after Jeb's visit. El Jerko himself.
He nodded, his eyes kind and shrewd beneath the wide brim of his hat. “Figured as much. Those fellows with feathers for brains talk too much and half the time don't even know what they're talking about. Don't pay 'em any mind.”
He glanced around. “So what
are
you going to do up here?”
She grinned. “Haven't a clue. Ain't it grand?”
W
earing an expression that would have frightened Dracula, Jeb punched the gas and roared away from Roxanne's place. Heedless of the curves and the clouds of dun and gray dust billowing up behind him, he rocketed down the winding road, sending gravel flying.
A half mile later when he hit the main road, not much wider or less winding than what he'd been driving on, common sense and a fondness for his own neck—and that of others—had him easing up on the gas and driving with some signs of sanity. His expression was still black, though, and his thoughts were equally so.
Why was it, he wondered grimly, that he had only to be thirty seconds in Roxanne Ballinger's presence before his temper snapped? All it took was one taunting glance from those huge golden eyes of hers and that belligerently lifted chin angled up at him and his brain turned to a seething mass of violent impulses. Worse, his body betrayed him—anytime he came within ten feet of the woman he was instantly, achingly hard with a boner that would have done a stallion proud. More damning, out of nowhere would come the overwhelming urge to sling her over his shoulder, dump her on the nearest available space, and jump her bones. And he didn't even
like
her!
He scowled. Jesus! He was forty-five years old. He wasn't a hormone-driven teenager anymore. He'd been married. Twice, he thought with a wince. He was a respectable member of the community. Hell, he was a sheriff's deputy, a sergeant and a detective at that. He should know better. He should have better control. And yet, one sight of Roxanne Ballinger and he was in knots—infuriated and fascinated, aroused and angry at the same time.
The fascination he could understand. She was a gorgeous female. Even when his temper was fraying and he was certain he disliked her intensely, he was aware of that. Too aware. Maybe that was the problem. His lips thinned and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was not,
not,
he repeated, going to become one of a long line of pecker-brained fools who had fallen for those stunning looks of hers. You couldn't pick up a magazine or turn on a television when there wasn't something about Roxanne's love life mentioned. Of course, he realized that the numbers of lovers she'd had over the years had to be inflated—unless she spent every available minute on her back and he doubted that. He didn't doubt much else about the stories he'd read and heard about her, but common sense told him she couldn't have been
that
promiscuous and still have appeared on and in all the magazines that she had.
It annoyed the hell out of him that he wasted any time at all thinking about Roxanne. He wasn't a saint and he didn't expect other people, even females, to be either, but there was something about Roxanne…
Cursing under his breath, he wrenched his thoughts away from the vexing subject of Miss Roxanne Ballinger. There were far more important things in life to contemplate. Such as what he was going to eat for lunch. Yeah, that should occupy his mind for five seconds at least.
As the red truck nosed around the last curve before the road dropped to the valley floor, Jeb spotted a black and silver Suburban pulling a two-horse trailer just starting up the road. He recognized the rig. Sloan Ballinger's. Roxanne's oldest brother.
He'd known Sloan all of his life. He liked and respected Sloan and he supposed one could say that they were, after a fashion, friends. They shared some common ancestors a few generations back, just as he did with Shelly, but they weren't exactly what one would call family. He'd been tickled when Sloan and Shelly had married in June and had been observing their unfolding marriage with an avuncular eye. Sloan and Shelly deserved to have a happy and successful marriage—some youthful misunderstandings and, he suspected, some ugly plotting by Shelly's dead brother, Josh, had caused them to waste nearly seventeen years. But that was behind them and he, for one, wished them the best of luck.
Josh's place, where Shelly had lived when she had returned to the valley in March, was about five miles up the road from here and he figured that Sloan was headed there. At the moment, Nick Rios, Shelly's partner in the cattle operation, was living in the house—along with Shelly's cousin from New Orleans, Roman Granger. Jeb had been, and was, a frequent visitor so he was familiar with the entire setup.
Pulling over onto one of the few wide spots on the road, he waited until Sloan came even with his vehicle.
Rolling down his window, Jeb called out, “Where're you headed? Up to Nick's place?”
Sloan nodded. “Yes. One of Shelly's cows found a break in the fence and Nick and Acey have been looking for her for hours, but no luck. She's due to calve any day and Shelly's pretty frantic about her. We're going to join the search. I've got our horses in the trailer and she drove on ahead of me in the Bronco. Didn't you pass her?”
Jeb cleared his throat. “Uh, I was just coming down from your sister's new place.” Two spots of dark red color appeared in his tanned cheeks. “Shelly must have been past Roxanne's cutoff before I hit the road.”
Sloan flicked up one black brow and his eyes, very like his sister's, were alight with amusement. “Is that so? And how did you find my sister? Well, I hope?”