Restless Spirit

by Cassie Miles

  Their unspoken camaraderie gave her a sense of belonging. He trusted her enough to share his investigation with her. “Tell me about the Ute side of your family.”

  “My mother was half Ute. I never knew my grandmother, but my grandfather was Charlie Brook, a silversmith who lived on the rez. I called him Tata Charlie.”

  “Did he make your necklace?”

  Mace reached up and touched the silver bear that rested in the hollow of his throat. “A bear totem. He gave it to me after a powwow when I participated in the bear dance.”

  “The one where the girls ask the boys to dance,” she said.

  “It’s more significant than that. Kind of like coming of age. The bear stands for strength.”

  “And protection,” she said, thinking of how a ferocious grizzly takes care of its young. “Very appropriate for you.”

  She wondered what his life had been like, growing up with one foot in each world. His sienna skin tone and nearly black eyes would have set him apart. Had he felt lonely? Different?

  While working at the Elkhorn Café, Nicole wasn’t able to tell the difference among the many racial blends of Native American and Latino in this area. But the locals knew at a glance. “Was there prejudice when you were growing up?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

  “No offense taken.” He glanced over at her. “Your question seems kind of intimate—like something a girlfriend might ask on a first date.”

  “Or something a sheriff might ask in an interrogation,” she said. “It seems only fair that I should know about your background. After all, you know all about me.”

  “Do I?”

  She wasn’t going down that path again. “Until I moved to Elkhorn, I always lived in cities. I never met anyone like you or Jewel.”

  “Jewel and I were lucky. Being of mixed race was never a big problem for us because our dad was completely accepting of the Ute culture. He encouraged us to learn about our family on the rez. I guess we had the best of both worlds. On the ranch we got to play cowboys. On the reservation we were Indians.”

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  He smiled gently. “A smart woman. Squaw sounds like a derogatory term, but women have status among the Utes. They were the ones who kept the villages running and successful.”

  “While the men were out hunting?”

  “Or putting on war paint for a raid,” he said sarcastically. Then he threw back his head and gave a piercing war cry. “Yi-yi-yi-yi.”

  Surprised, she gaped at him. This was the second time she’d seen the unleashed side of this usually self-possessed man. The first was in the stable when he was angry and had frightened her. Now, he was laughing, full of engaging energy and strength.

  “Do that again,” she said.

  “Do it with me,” he urged.

  “I simply couldn’t.”

  “Chicken?”

  She threw back her head. “Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi.”

  Laughter bubbled through her as she leaned back on the seat. She wouldn’t have minded if this ride had been a date, if they’d been together just because they wanted to be.

  Mace glanced over at her. “That’s the simple explanation of what it’s like to be Ute. It’s not the textbook pictures of teepees and papooses and bows and arrows. It’s freedom to be yourself. Being Ute is my identity, my heritage, my tribe.”

  His life was so different from hers. Nicole had almost no family or guidance while growing up. Mace had an entire tribe. Two tribes, the ranchers and the people on the rez. “Why did you leave Elkhorn for Denver?”

  “It was a quest,” he said. “I needed to go far away to discover that my life was really here.”

  Again, she was struck by the disparity between them. She was unconnected, a thistle on the wind. Mace had roots. “Now that you know you belong here, would you ever leave again?”

  “Sure. But I’d probably always come back.”

  Mace slowed as they drove by the road sign for Las Ranas. They passed a few ramshackle houses and cruised through the little town in about four minutes flat. Just beyond the stop sign, Mace parked outside a tavern. The two-story, wood-frame structure had a covered porch where two old men sat and stared at the road. Beside them was a sleeping yellow dog.

  Nicole read the sign beside the door. “Espresso. Latte. Beer. Soda pop. And worms. Oh, yum.”

  “Don’t order the coffee,” Mace warned.

  “I thought I might have a cup of worms.”

  “You’d be better off.”

  Inside the tavern, the afternoon sunlight through the windows facing west provided a fading glow on scarred, ancient hardwood floors. A handful of people sat at the long bar and at tables.

  Mace led her to a table by the windows looking out at the parking lot. No sooner were they seated than a long-legged blond woman who didn’t look old enough to be working in a bar bounced over to them.

  “Sheriff Mace!” She giggled. “It’s been a while.”

  When he introduced Daisy, she grabbed Nicole’s fingers and pumped in a bone-rattling handshake. “I know you. Elkhorn Café?”

  “That’s right,” Nicole said.

  “I never forget a face.” Daisy turned back to Mace. “Is Nicole your new girlfriend?”

  He leaned back in his chair, removed his sunglasses and grinned. “Maybe she is.”

  Nicole swallowed hard. Unless her ears were deceiving her, Mace claimed that she might be his girlfriend. This afternoon was definitely beginning to feel more like a date than an investigation.

  “Good,” said Daisy. “It’s about time you settled down and got married, Mace.”

  Married? Nicole was stunned.

  Surely he’d put a stop to this nonsense. But when she glanced toward him, his dark-eyed gaze rested coolly upon her. In contrast, she felt feverishly hot.

  Daisy rattled on, “When you two decide to get hitched, let me do the catering. It’ll be the biggest party we’ve ever had in Sterling County.”

  Mace grinned. “You sound just like your mother, Daisy.”

  “Do not! Mama is interfering. I’m interested.”

  Nicole needed to derail this marriage rumor before it built up a full head of steam and roared through the county. Such gossip could only lead to a train wreck. “Daisy,” she said, “Mace and I aren’t really considering marriage.”

  “But you’re together.”

  Nicole felt flustered. “This isn’t a date. We haven’t even kissed.”

  “Well, you could change that right now,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hello? It’s obvious,” Daisy said.

  She grabbed Mace’s arm and pulled him from his chair. Then she did the same with Nicole. They were standing face-to-face.

  “Go ahead,” Daisy urged. “Kiss him.”

  What was going on? Was this some kind of bizarre Sterling County rite of passage? As Nicole looked up at Mace, the pressure built inside her. All the rotten memories of prior relationships surged to the forefront of her mind. She wasn’t over Derek. Even though the physical bruises had faded, she wasn’t ready to trust another man. Not even Mace. Not even for a simple little kiss. “I will not kiss him.”

  “Your choice,” Daisy said. “I know fifty women who would give a hundred bucks to be standing in your shoes right now.”

  Mace said nothing. He waited for her to make the first move. Even now, when his masculine reputation was on the line, he didn’t push, didn’t make demands.

  She was making a big deal over nothing. What would it hurt to kiss him? It wasn’t as if this relationship had a chance of becoming…a relationship.

  Nicole rested her hand on his warm cheek. She went up on tiptoe, intending to lightly brush her lips against his. But when she tasted his mouth, she lingered too long.

  Mace clasped his arm around her waist, holding her firmly but gently. His mouth moved against hers, and she felt a sizzle
of excitement. The heat of his body set fire to her skin. Delicious flames licked through her—awakening and sensually arousing her.

  Then their kiss ended.

  Nicole was aware that the other people in the tavern were cheering. She felt embarrassed, but in a good way.

  “I knew you two were right for each other,” Daisy said. “Mace needs a woman who can stand up to him.”

  And she needed a man who could stand up for her, who could support her no matter what. Nicole searched the depths of his eyes—dark pools reflecting his strength and caring. Was he the man she needed? She sank back into her chair, not daring to hope. Too many of her dreams had been trampled and crushed. She couldn’t bear another disappointment.

  “Now,” Daisy said, “can I get you both some coffee? On the house.”

  “Not coffee,” Mace said quickly. “Orange soda.”

  As he returned to his seat, Nicole studied him. In a low voice, she asked, “Why did that happen?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Mace wished he could explain. He hadn’t planned to kiss her. Sure, he could come up with excuses, could say that he didn’t want to introduce her as a witness, and it was easier to pretend that they were dating. But that glib rationalization didn’t explain why he had kissed her back.

  The truth was simple. He wanted to kiss her. Maybe he’d wanted to kiss her from the first moment he saw her.

  “I feel a little silly,” she said.

  “Me, too.” He was tongue-tied. Obviously, he’d been out of the dating scene too long. He couldn’t even remember what a smooth move looked like.

  “I’m not sorry I kissed you,” she said. “But it won’t happen again.”

  “If you change your mind,” he said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “What if it’s not for weeks?”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  “What if I’m gone tomorrow?”

  “Then we’ll never know what might have been.”

  He studied her angelic face. A pink blush colored her cheeks. The intriguing sparkle in her blue eyes was like the shimmer of sunlight on a waterfall. Her wide mouth curved in one of her infrequent smiles, and he was glad that he’d put that grin on her face.

  When Daisy returned to the table with their drinks, Mace dragged his focus back to the investigation. “I’m looking for Don Blackbird. Has he been around today?”

  “He just left, but he’s coming back. So you might as well wait. I’ll bring chips and salsa.”

  She bounded toward the bar, bursting with energy in this wild little tavern. Mace gave an exasperated sigh as he watched her. “Daisy’s a blond tornado.”

  “What’s her story?” Nicole asked.

  “Her parents own the deed to the tavern, but Daisy always considered this to be her place. Ever since she was a kid, she was always dashing in and out. Now she’s trying to class it up. The espresso machine is her idea.”

  Nicole asked, “Is it true that she always remembers people?”

  “Like all gossips, she’s great with names.”

  “Maybe she knows Joey.”

  He hadn’t considered that possibility, but it was likely. When Daisy returned with their chips, he said, “I’m also looking for Joey Wentworth. Do you know him?”

  “The guy who was kidnapped?”

  Mace didn’t bother asking how she knew about the abduction. “Have you seen him?”

  “I’m not quite sure who he is. What does he look like?”

  Nicole said, “He’s five-nine. Shaggy brown hair. Goofy-looking smile. And he’s always got paint stains on his hands and clothes.”

  “The artist,” Daisy said. “Sure, I know him. He used to set up his easel over by Boot Hill Cemetery.”

  “Have you seen him in the past few days?” Mace asked.

  “Nope.” Daisy frowned and shook her head. “I can’t believe he was kidnapped. I never would have guessed he was rich.”

  “You know, Daisy. It’d be a real help to me if anybody who happened to see Joey in the past few days would contact me.”

  “I’ll put out the word.” Still shaking her head, she left their table and slipped behind the bar where she chatted with another patron who turned and talked to someone else. Just by watching, Mace could observe the spread of information. The Feds might have state-of-the-art surveillance and recording equipment, but the gossip grapevine was a faster way to circulate information.

  “Amazing,” Nicole said as she noted the same phenomenon. “You just started a county-wide search.”

  “Maybe some results will turn up. Somebody noticing the kidnappers. Can’t hurt.”

  “Not like the rumor about our supposed dating,” she said. “By the time we get back to the ranch house, Jewel will be picking flowers for my bridal bouquet.”

  “By that time,” he said, “the rumor mill will have you pregnant with twins.”

  Her smile widened. “This never happened to me before. I’ve always been anonymous.”

  “Not anymore,” he said. “You’re a Sterling County celebrity.”

  “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be.”

  Mace spotted Don Blackbird coming through the door and waved him over to their table. Blackbird was a big man, as husky as the kidnappers he’d seen in ski masks. He was tough and smart enough to pull off the abduction of Joey Wentworth, but Mace doubted Blackbird would bother. His holdings in the Four Corners area casinos paid him a decent living.

  When he introduced Nicole, Blackbird nodded, then frowned at her. “I know you from the paintings,” he said. “Joey said you were his lady.”

  “We’re roommates,” she said.

  “Joey said you’d take off all your clothes to pose for him, and he’d paint on your body.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Joey has a vivid imagination. I never posed nude for him.”

  Mace turned to Don Blackbird. “I recognized your face in some of Joey’s artwork. Did you pose naked?”

  “You think I took my clothes off for a guy?” His big shoulders shuddered. “I’m not that way.”

  The grimy ring around his shirt collar and smudges on his jeans told Mace that Don Blackbird probably didn’t often remove his clothes—not even for a bath. “But you and Joey were friends.”

  “Not really.” Blackbird’s forehead wrinkled as he considered. “He liked to talk about ghostwalkers in the cemetery. He called them zombies.”

  Nicole nodded her head. “The first time I met Joey was in a cemetery. He’s been obsessed with death since his parents were killed in a plane crash outside Aspen.”

  “That’s right,” Don Blackbird said. “Joey’s an orphan.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?” Mace asked.

  “Not much. I let him paint my picture. Just my face. Sometimes I saw him in the casinos.”

  “Joey was a gambler,” Mace said.

  “A bad gambler. He got into private poker games and owed a lot of money.”

  “How much?”

  “Thousands,” Blackbird said. “Maybe ten or twenty.”

  Mace would’ve preferred to hear that Joey owed hundreds of thousands. An astronomical debt would be motivation to stage his own kidnapping. “Was anybody threatening Joey?”

  “Enough to kidnap him?” The lazy grin vanished as Blackbird leaned forward on the table. “Listen, Mace, I play no part in this. I thought maybe you’d make a connection to me, but I got nothing to do with a kidnapping.”

  “Why did you think I’d make a connection to you?”

  “From the paintings,” he said. “I know Joey. But that’s all.”

  “Tell me who else knows Joey.”

  “I’m not a snitch.”

  Mace could have arrested him, but it wouldn’t do any good. “Can you think of anything that would help me find Joey?”

  “No,” he said.

  Mace believed him. The only useful information he’d get from Don Blackbird was that Joey was in need of ready cash. “You know how to contac
t me if you hear anything.”

  “Sure thing, Mace.” He stood, nodded to Nicole, and strolled toward the bar.

  When Mace turned back toward Nicole, he saw all the color drain from her face. Still as a statue, she stared through the window at the parking lot. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  Chapter Nine

  She saw Derek. In the parking lot outside the tavern, she saw him walking toward a dark sedan with tinted windows. Nicole recognized his heavy shoulders in the Armani leather jacket he’d worn so many times before. On the back of his head, she saw the bald spot in his thinning brown hair.

  Without turning toward her, he climbed into the passenger seat and closed the car door. She hadn’t seen him clearly, hadn’t seen his face, but she knew it was him. No one else could inspire this heart-wrenching terror. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse went dead.

  Her eyes stared, unblinking, as the car drove away. He was gone.

  Her frantic gaze searched the gravel parking lot off the two-lane main road through Las Ranas. It seemed inconceivable that the sun was still shining and the sky was still blue in a world that had exploded. One glimpse of Derek and she was destroyed. Ravaged by fear, she watched as the yellow dog that had been sleeping on the porch loped toward the red stop sign.

  Had she really seen him? Rationally, she knew that Derek couldn’t have been here. There was no earthly reason for him to come to Las Ranas.

  “Nicole?”

  She heard Mace’s voice, calling her back to reality, but her throat was momentarily paralyzed and she couldn’t respond.

  “Nicole, are you all right?”

  She forced herself to inhale and exhale. Her heart started beating again. “I’m fine.”

  Her mouth was dry, parched as a desert. But when she reached for the orange soda, her hand shook too much to lift the glass to her lips.

  Mace captured her trembling fingers. “You saw something. Joey?”

  “No.”

  “Look at me, Nicole.”

  Her gaze lifted, and she was rewarded with the sight of Mace’s handsome face. Sincere concern etched his features as he studied her intently, and she suddenly understood why she’d conjured up Derek. Her vision of the abusive man who wrecked her life was a subconscious message. Nicole must never forget that she wasn’t the sort of woman who was destined for a healthy relationship…not even with a county sheriff who seemed to embody all the traits of a truly good man. It would never work. There could be no happy endings for her.