Desert Heat (24 page)

In less than twenty minutes they walked into his room at the Pueblo Motel and he set her overnight bag on the floor beside the door. They both smelled of smoke and were covered with soot. It didn’t matter. When she turned to face him, Dallas caught the nape of her neck and dragged her mouth up to his for a hard, ravishing kiss.

“You could have died tonight,” he said. “You could have been killed in that barn.”

Her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back, opening her mouth to accept his tongue, sliding her own over his. As tired as she was, her fatigue seemed to fall away, replaced by the same burning need that Dallas felt.

Cradling the back of her head, kissing her one way and then another, he walked her backward, over to the bed. Her knees hit the edge and she tumbled back, sprawling across the mattress. Dallas came down on top of her, took her mouth again, and savaged it until she moaned.

He wanted her. Now. He needed to be inside her with an urgency that was nearly overwhelming. Unzipping her jeans, he lifted her hips and yanked them down to her knees along with her panties. He parted her legs, positioned himself, and drove himself deep inside.

Patience moaned as her body tightened around him, gloving him so sweetly he nearly lost control. He took her fast and hard, thrusting into her again and again. Something had happened to him tonight when he had seen her in that burning barn. Besides the fear, a primal instinct had arisen, an overwhelming urge to protect her. Now that she was safe, he needed to make her his, to imprint himself on her in some way.

Their coupling was wild and intense. Patience tossed her head and dug her nails into his back. She reached a powerful climax and an instant later, so did he. He waited only a moment, then pulled himself free. Lifting her up, he carried her into the bathroom and set her on her feet. She didn’t protest when he started the shower, stripped away her clothes and his own, then helped her in and climbed in to join her.

They soaped each other down and shampooed each others’ hair, then rinsed and soaped each other again. Her slim, smooth body felt incredible beneath his hands. He was hard again, but she was exhausted from her brush with death. He meant to carry her straight to bed, curl up beside her and watch her sleep, but her hands closed over his hardness and she began to stroke him.

“I need you,” she said, coming up on her toes to kiss him, water sloshing over her face onto his. The tap was getting cold or he would have taken her there, up against the shower wall. Instead he turned off the nozzle and slid back the curtain, dried both of them off, and carried her over to the bed.

She reached for him again, kneaded him, cupped him, and Dallas groaned.

He didn’t hurry this time. He wanted to make it good for her, to show her how much she meant to him. He kissed her and kissed her, tasted the inside of her mouth, nibbled his way over her collarbone, made his way down to her breasts, then sucked the fullness between his teeth. Patience wound her fingers in his hair and arched upward, giving him better access. Her skin felt smooth and silky. The smell of some flowery shampoo drifted up from her damp blond hair.

He was hard and throbbing, his body clenching with the need to be inside her. Instead, he returned to kissing her breasts, slid his hand up her thigh, and began to stroke her. He didn’t stop until he had her sobbing his name, making soft little mewling sounds in her throat. He parted her legs and slid himself inside her, heard her breath catch in pleasure.

Propped on his elbows, he looked into her face and thought how beautiful she was. He thought of her in the blazing barn and a shudder ran through him. He drove himself deeper, filling her completely, and her eyes met his, heavy-lidded with desire. The stiff peaks of her breasts pressed into his chest and her legs slid over his, forcing him deeper still.

“I want you,” she said. “You can’t imagine how much.”

The words turned his shaft to steel. The blood in his veins burned hotter than the fire they had escaped in the barn. He couldn’t get enough of her, and knowing that, he faced another truth.

He was in love with her. Crazy in love.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, wished with all his heart it hadn’t. For the sad fact was, loving her didn’t change a thing.

“Dallas…please…”

It was a plea he understood. He started to move, sliding out and then in, stroking deeply, slowly, letting the pleasure build. Patience moaned and arched beneath him and he moved a little faster, a little harder. His muscles strained as he fought for control. Bending his head, he kissed her, felt her soft mouth sinking into his, tasted her on his tongue. He thrust deeper, faster, felt her nails digging into his shoulders, surged again and again until she came.

His own release followed, swift and hard, and seemed to go on forever. Maybe loving someone made it better. He had always thought maybe it would.

Time slipped past. He wasn’t sure how long they lay entwined on the bed. Relaxed at last, he moved to her side, reached for her, and eased her into his arms.

He was in love with her, but they couldn’t marry. He would only make her unhappy—and himself.

Dallas closed his eyes. He wondered how long it would take him to fall asleep.

Dallas awoke feeling groggy, his throat scratchy, and a pounding in his head. The pounding turned out to be someone knocking at the door. He dragged himself from under the covers and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, then walked over to see who it was.

He opened the door a crack. Behind him, Patience sat up in bed, looking as if she had just been tumbled, which an hour earlier she had.

“You Dallas Kingman?” The man on the other side of the door wore the light beige shirt and dark pants of a county sheriff. He was thin, mid-forties, his hair sandy blond and butched very short.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I’m Sheriff Vance Kendall. I’d like to talk to you about the fire at the fairgrounds last night.”

Dallas nodded but didn’t open the door. “All right.”

“I’d…uh…also like to speak to Ms. Sinclair. She is in there, isn’t she?”

Dallas wasn’t sure how the officer knew Patience was in his motel room, but there wasn’t much use in denying it. He tossed a look over her shoulder, saw that Patience had heard what the sheriff had said. Her face was red and she was frantically pulling clothes out of the canvas bag she had brought with her last night.

“She’ll need a minute to get dressed.” Dallas walked back to the closet, grabbed a shirt and shrugged it on, then joined the sheriff out on the porch in front of the motel room.

“What can I do for you Sheriff Kendall?”

“I understand you and your lady friend were there last night during the fire.”

“That’s right. Patience was the first person to see the smoke. She woke the rest of us up in time to save the horses. Have they found out how the fire got started?”

“Actually, that’s the reason I’m here. It looks as if the blaze wasn’t accidental. The fire investigation team found evidence of arson. There were traces of gasoline on the ground around the perimeter of the building and it appears to have been poured on the roof. That’s the reason the place went up so fast.”

Dallas’s mouth went dry. Charlie’s troubles were escalating. If Patience hadn’t been passing the barn at the exact time she had, there was every chance Charlie’s valuable bucking horses would be dead. Worse than that, the way things were going, sooner or later someone was going to get killed. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“Did you see anything unusual last night?” the sheriff asked. “Anything that could help us figure out who might be responsible for setting the fire?”

“No, unfortunately, I didn’t. I wish I could be more help, but by the time I got to the barn, it was already engulfed in flames.”

Just then Patience pulled open the door. She had swept her blond hair up with a comb, washed her face, and dragged on jeans and a T-shirt. She gave the sheriff a tentative smile.

“Good morning, Sheriff.”

“Good mornin’, ma’am. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

“No, of course not.”

“According to Mr. Kingman, you were the first person at the scene of the fire last night.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you see anything suspicious? Anyone who might have been involved in starting the blaze?”

Patience’s face went a little bit pale. “It was set, then? It wasn’t an accident of some kind?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid it wasn’t.”

She drew in a steadying breath. “I didn’t see anything, Sheriff. I wish I had. At the time, all I could think about was getting the horses to safety.”

“I spoke to Mr. Carson earlier. He told me about the trouble he’s been having. Do either of you have any idea who might be behind these attacks?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dallas said.

“Then I guess there’s nothing else either of you can tell me.” When neither of them replied, the sheriff handed each of them a card. “If you think of anything you might have forgotten, give me a call.”

“We will,” Patience said.

“Why don’t you finish getting dressed?” Dallas gently suggested. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

As soon as the door was closed, he turned to the sheriff. “I don’t know how much my uncle told you. I know he’s reluctant to name names, but there are a couple of people you might want to check out.” Dallas gave him the same list of names he had given the sheriff in Cheyenne, then mentioned Junior Reese and the robbery in Cottonwood Creek.

“Junior admitted that he had taken the money, but there wasn’t any proof. My uncle decided to let the matter drop.”

“Cottonwood Creek isn’t all that far away,” Sheriff Kendall said. “You think this guy Reese might be responsible for the fire?”

“I don’t know. He’s a real S.O.B. I suppose it’s possible.”

“But you say he wasn’t around when your uncle’s troubles first began.”

“No, he wasn’t. At least not that we know of.”

“I’ll put out an APB, have him pulled in for questioning. Anything else you can think of?”

He flicked a glance toward the door behind him. “Patience had some trouble with a guy back in Boston. He was stalking her, harassing her. He followed her to Colorado Springs. As far as I know, he’s got nothing to do with any of this and he’s supposed to be back in Boston but you might want to check it out.”

“Will do. You think of anything else, you let me know.”

“I will, Sheriff. Thanks.”

Dallas returned to the room to find Patience showered and dressed in jeans, a tank top, and boots. He showered himself and they headed back to the fairgrounds. He needed to talk to Charlie, find out what his uncle intended to do.

Whatever it was, the Circle C Rodeo Company had a show to produce. Plans had already been made, people had paid good money, cowboys were there to ride.

The thought made his stomach churn.

As soon as Dallas reached the fairgrounds, he took Patience back to her trailer and went in search of Charlie. His uncle was standing at the bottom of the metal stairs leading up to the production trailer, in the unlikely company of his number one competitor, Jack Stiles.

“Word travels fast,” Dallas said. “Or is it just coincidence you arrived at Charlie’s door less than twenty-four hours after he suffered a major fire.”

“I’m a twenty-first century man,” Jack drawled. “I saw it on the Internet. The fire was big news on the Pro Rodeo Web site.” Stiles was tall and spare, fifty-one or -two, with thick gray hair and deep lines beside his mouth and eyes. He was a powerful figure in the rodeo world who for years had been trying to steal Charlie’s clients. Dallas figured it was only his somewhat oily personality that managed to keep him from succeeding.

“So you just dropped in to voice your concern,” Dallas said.

“I flew down from the rodeo in Kalispell. I won’t lie about it. I figured with all the trouble Charlie’s been having, he might finally be ready to sell.”

Dallas’s attention swung to his uncle. “Tell me you aren’t selling out to Stiles.”

Charlie shook his head. “I thought about it—for about five seconds.” He turned a sharp look on Stiles. “Fact is, someone’s tryin’ to run me out of business. Well, I ain’t never run from a fight and I ain’t startin’ now.”

Jack Stiles’s head came up. “Wait a minute—I didn’t have anything to do with that fire. I just figured you was having a run of bad luck and maybe I could capitalize on it.”

Charlie seemed to assess him, then he sighed. “It’s all right. I never figured you for the criminal sort.” He looked at Stiles and the corners of his mouth curved. “Not for the most part, anyhow.”

Stiles just laughed. “All right, I won’t press you. In fact, I’ll do a little digging, myself. A man don’t deserve to be cheated out of what he’s worked hard for all his life. I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Charlie said.

Stiles left for the airport, on his way to the twin engine Cessna 414 he often traveled in between rodeos.

“You don’t think Stiles might be behind this?” Dallas asked as they watched the man’s rental car disappear down the two-lane asphalt road. He had never trusted Jack Stiles, no matter how sincere he might sound.

“I don’t know. He’s wanted me to sell out to him for years. Maybe he got tired of waiting.”

“I don’t like this, Charlie. This keeps up, somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

Charlie stared off toward the blackened remains that were all that was left of the horse barns. “I know.”

They left the production trailer and started walking toward the rodeo arena. With the big Albuquerque show coming up next weekend, there were a lot of top cowboys competing here in nearby Lea County.

From the corner of his eye, Dallas saw a familiar, big, thick-chested cowboy walking across the grass and recognized Wes McCauley. Wes ignored him, which was fine with Dallas.

Pulling through the entrance gate, he spotted Jade Egan’s fancy gold horse trailer and gold Dodge truck. Jade wasn’t driving. Instead she sat in the passenger seat and a young, dark-complexioned cowboy sat behind the wheel, Jade’s latest conquest, he figured.

Earlier in the day, Dallas had spoken to Blue Cody, whose name was on the list of competing bareback bronc riders. Reno Garcia would be riding bulls, and Ritchie Madden was back on his feet. With Junior gone, he and Cy would be clowning together again.

Pretty much all of Dallas’s best rodeo friends were there and with all that had been going on, Dallas was damned glad to see them. He was walking next to Charlie, thinking about the tough competition he’d be facing, when he spotted the sheriff’s white patrol car pulling toward them across the grass.

“That’s Kendall,” he said. “Maybe he’s come up with a lead.”

Patience must have also seen the patrol car driving in, for Dallas saw her walking their way. The car pulled up right next to them. The door opened up, Kendall unwound himself from the seat, and the small group converged on him all at once.

“You find out who started the fire?” Dallas asked.

The sheriff shook his head. “Not yet. And I got some more bad news. Seems as though there was someone in that barn last night. Fire department found a body in the rubble.”

Charlie’s whole body stiffened and a knot of dread tightened in the bottom of Dallas’s stomach.

“They figure the guy was probably an itinerant, some homeless person making a bed in the straw for the night.”

Dallas flicked a glance at Patience, whose face looked as white as her hat. “So now the man who did it isn’t just responsible for arson—he’s also wanted for murder.”

“That’s right. You sure none of you saw anything?”

Dallas looked at Patience and Charlie who were both shaking their heads. “Sorry, Sheriff.”

“We’ll keep you posted,” the sheriff said. “I hope you’ll do the same.”

“Sure will,” Charlie said.

The sheriff returned to his car and they watched the vehicle pull away.

“That poor man in the barn,” Patience said. “It was so awful in there. I hope…I hope he didn’t suffer.”

Dallas slid an arm around her shoulders. “He probably died of smoke inhalation, darlin’. Most likely, he never even woke up.” He prayed it was the truth. And just as he’d feared, a man was now dead.

Charlie’s sigh whispered toward them. “I got this show to finish and I gotta do Albuquerque next week. That’s my last rodeo this month. I’d planned to take a little time off after that, go back to the ranch and see Annie. Now, with all that’s happened, I’m gonna suspend Circle C productions indefinitely. I can’t afford to put other peoples’ lives in danger.”

Damn.
Dallas couldn’t miss the defeat and worry in Charlie’s face. Closing down was probably the right thing to do, but it would only pose more problems for Charlie.

“What about the money you’ve already been paid, payments you’ve received for rodeos through the end of the year? You’ll have to pay that money back.”

“That’s my worry, son. I’ll do what I have to.”

“If only you’d let me—”

“No.” The word echoed with a note of finality. Charlie turned and started walking, his shoulders hunched over, his hat pulled low.

Dallas had never felt more helpless. “Stubborn as a jackass, always has been. Damn, I wish there was something I could do.”

But there wasn’t. Charlie wasn’t the kind of man to risk people’s lives. He was strong and determined and he would do whatever he had to, no matter how painful it was. It was one of the reasons that he had been successful as a rodeo producer, that he’d become a successful cattle rancher. It was one of the reasons Dallas loved him so much.

“I feel so sorry for him,” Patience said.

Dallas didn’t answer. As he watched his uncle walk away, a rock seemed to settle on his chest the size of a melon. Charlie Carson was the best man he’d ever known. He didn’t deserve the things that were happening to him.

Why would anyone want to hurt him?
It was the question Dallas had asked himself a thousand times.

But still no answer came.

Patience tried not to think of Charlie or the man who had died in the fire. During the week, she kept herself busy with the project she had somehow found herself involved in. Every morning, she read the journal or made phone calls to the newspapers in towns that had hosted early rodeos. In Hobbs, the nearest sizable town, she found a little Internet cafe and went on-line to surf the Web for sites that might have information on early rodeos.

She was familiar with most of the sources. She had used them in her research. But nothing helpful turned up.

She continued reading the journal, enjoying the special bond she now felt with Addie Holmes. The adventures of Addie and Sam Starling continued, Addie falling deeper and deeper in love.

Nothing else was written. Patience got the impression Addie was too stunned to think of anything to say. It was two days later, toward the back of the book, that Addie wrote in the journal again. Apparently Whit Whitcomb, the beau Addie had left back home in Oklahoma, turned up at the worst possible time.

Patience sat back in her chair. She had known from the start they would marry. Her mother’s maiden name was Whitcomb. Walter “Whit” Whitcomb was her great grandfather. And yet, it made her sad to think of Sam and Addie and that Addie had loved Sam and not Whit, at least in the beginning.

One last entry caught her eye.

The journal picked up a few days later. Whit and Addie left that same afternoon, taking the train back to Lawton, Oklahoma, and his farm on the outskirts of town. Addie never mentioned Sam Starling’s name again in the final pages of the journal, but there seemed a wistful note in her words toward the end. Patience wondered how long it had taken her to forget him.

She hoped that Addie and Whit were happy.

She was sorry when the journal ended. She felt as if she, too, had suffered the loss of a beloved friend.

Charlie sat in the chair behind his desk in the production trailer. Usually, he kept the place pretty neat, but tonight papers were strewn over the desk and the trash can needed to be emptied. He’d get around to it, he told himself, but lately he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the little things with all the trouble swirling around him.

After Junior had stolen the money in Cottonwood Creek, he’d bitten the bullet, called the bank, and begun the process of taking out a second mortgage on the ranch. Annie hadn’t wanted him to, but once he’d explained it was that or sell some land, she’d pitched in and done the paperwork.

His credit was good and the ranch was worth a pretty good chunk of money, so it wouldn’t take long to get the loan completed and collect the funds. He’d figured if he could just hold on until things smoothed out again…

But that hadn’t happened and now with the fine it didn’t look like it was going to. He hated the idea of running from his troubles, but a man was dead. If they didn’t catch the bastard who was causing him grief, it just might happen again. Maybe next time it would be Dallas, or someone who worked for him. Charlie couldn’t bear the thought.

He leaned back in his chair and picked up his cell phone. For the past half hour, he’d been trying to work up the courage to call Annie. But he didn’t feel any better now than he had back then.

He punched in Annie’s number. He hadn’t told her about the man who’d been killed in the fire. He didn’t want to tell her now. He had always tried to protect her from the harsher side of life, but in his heart he knew she was every bit as tough as he was. Maybe tougher.

“Hi, honey,” he said into the phone.

She must have heard something in his voice because her breathing hitched on the other end of the line. “Don’t tell me it’s more bad news.”

“I wish I could tell you it wasn’t, darlin’, but I’m afraid it is.” He went on to tell her about the man who had been killed and his decision to forfeit the rest of the rodeos he was scheduled to produce this year.

There was a long pause on the opposite end of the phone. “Jack Stiles and Lem Watkins gonna be able to take on the rest of the shows?”

“I don’t know. I imagine they’re pretty-well booked, but they’re both fairly greedy. I figure they’ll find a way.”

“We’ll have to give back the money we’ve already been paid.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons I called.” He took a shaky breath. “I want you to phone Mal Sullivan. Tell Sully we’ll sell him that chunk of land he’s been wantin’.”

“Oh, Charlie, no.”

“Look, honey. In a way this might be good. I’m getting’ tired of travelin’ all the time, bein’ away from home so damned much. The money from the sale will give us a cushion. We won’t have to go through with that second mortgage and I can make some sort of settlement, resolve that lawsuit with those folks in Silver Springs. Still ought to be enough left so I can stay home and start building up the ranch.”

“You told Sully you’d never sell a square foot of the land your great granddaddy worked so hard for. Deep down, I know you still feel that way.”

“Maybe I do, but things are different now. Like I said, we could use that money to improve the ranch. It’d be good to spend more time there. Maybe if I’d been home, tending to business, we wouldn’t have lost those cows.”