Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  Mallory touched one long ear and the burro opened an eye. “This is Nobody?”

  “This is him,” Mike confirmed.

  Gently, she stroked the burro’s neck. “Hi, little guy. What are we going to do with you? I don’t have room for you at my house in Vegas.”

  “He can stay here if you want,” Mike offered. He patted the burro’s neck. “I kinda like having him around. And the guests’ kids will love him when they come back.”

  “I couldn’t possibly impose any further.” She slid her slender fingers over the burro’s soft nose.

  “It’s no trouble. Look, he’s used to it here. Trailering him to Las Vegas would be expensive, far more than he’s worth. I feed a lot of horses; one more small mouth isn’t going to make a difference. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it.” Mike met her troubled gaze. “He’s earned a nice retirement. Let me provide it.”

  “Please let me pay his board. You’ve already done so much.”

  “Not a chance,” he said with a smile.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like to rest? Swim?” He glanced at a watch on his wrist. “It’s nearly noon. How about lunch, then a siesta?”

  “Please, Mr. Malone? Mike? I’m not on vacation. Don’t feel you need to wait on me. I’m sure you have guests who need looking after. I’m fine on my own.”

  His mouth tightened. “Haven’t you noticed, Miss James? You’re the sole visitor on The Cholla.” He waved a hand in a wide arc. “There’s not a single paying customer on the place. In fact, there’s virtually no one here. I have less than a skeleton staff on board.”

  “What?” She gaped at him. “Why on earth don’t you have tourists? This is a guest ranch? Isn’t this the busiest time of year for you? I thought it seemed slow, but I assumed everyone had a day off or something.”

  “Normally we should be at capacity right now.” He fought to keep the anger from his voice. “But I have legal issues which prevent me from operating until we get them untangled. So, you see, it wasn’t a hardship to have Skeeter stay here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Until I get a legal matter settled, I’m prohibited from running my business.” In spite of his effort not to let bitterness show, it filled his voice. “Thanks to a bunch of busybodies with nothing better to do than harass me, there isn’t a single guest on the premises.”

  “Then I shouldn’t be here,” Mallory said, turning toward the lodge. “I’ll make other arrangements.”

  Mike grabbed her wrist and warmth spread through her. “Yes, you should stay here. I’m not allowed to have paying customers, but I can have a personal guest. God knows I need something, anything, to do to keep me from going crazy.”

  Although innocent, his words heated her insides. “Are you certain?”

  “Positive.” He let go of her. “Come on, let’s have lunch. You can leave after you eat.”

  She bit her lip as she decided. “Okay then. On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you tell me every single thing you know about my father.”

  ~*~

  Mallory leaned against the industrial-sized sink and watched Mike prepare two ham and cheese sandwiches. When he’d opened the huge, silver refrigerator, she’d seen enough food to feed fifty. Although she wanted to pry, find out what the group he mentioned could possibly hold over him to keep him from his work, she kept her questions to herself. Whatever had happened, it was none of her business.

  “We can eat on my patio, if you like,” he suggested, carrying both plates.

  They sat together, the February sun warm on their backs. Mallory eyed her plate appreciatively. Along with making sandwiches, he’d halved a cantaloupe, using it for a berry bowl. He’d also brought along a pitcher of iced tea and poured them both a glass. “This is lovely. If only this were just a vacation.”

  “I’m sorry for the reason, but you’re welcome to relax while you’re here,” Mike offered. “You’re more than welcome to use the pool, the horses, anything you like. Although, if you do decide to ride I have to ask you to stay out of the desert. You can go down the roads.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She bet his business ran very successfully if this was the way he treated paying customers. Although she did wonder why she couldn’t go to the desert. Taking a deep breath, she said, “What I’d really like is to hear about my dad.”

  He frowned. “What do you want to know?”

  “You apparently knew my father. That’s more than I can say. He left my mother and me when I was five years old. We never heard a word again. My mother was frantic to find him. They hadn’t fought, had no problems to speak of, and wham, he just disappears without a trace. About six months later, we got one letter that said he needed time to figure some things out, but that was it. Not another word.”

  “I don’t know what I can tell you.” A small frown played around his mouth, and she wondered about it. Didn’t he want to talk about her dad?

  “Anything. I would like to know the smallest details. When did he come here? How did he get here? What drew him to you?” In spite of her determination not to let her anger show, a tinge of old hurt spilled into her voice. She’d spent twenty-two years trying not to let her father’s abandonment hurt, but it did. A lot.

  Mike shrugged. “There’s not much I can tell you. Our head wrangler came in from a trail ride one day a few years ago with the news that he’d seen an old man with a burro on one of the trails. That wasn’t earth-shattering news. The Cholla’s land is bordered by Tonto National Forest on three sides, and people often use the land to ride or to hike. What seemed different is that this guy—your dad—looked like an old-time prospector more than a casual tourist.”

  Mallory leaned forward, intrigued. “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing.” He stared into the distance as if he could see her father there. “We spotted Skeeter now and then, but he minded his own affairs, and so did we. He didn’t bother anyone so we left him alone. He came in once in a while to rest for a few days or bum a meal or two.”

  “When did you become acquainted?” She rested her chin in her palm. “And why do you call him Skeeter?”

  He looked at her. “I took a ride by myself one day and I found Skeeter—that’s what he called himself—digging Cholla thorns out of his hand. I offered to help, and though he declined, he began to talk.”

  “What did he tell you?” Mallory held her breath.

  “Not much,” Mike said. “He rambled on about gold, but he never found any.”

  “What gold?” She leaned forward. Maybe this was what she was looking for. The reason her father had left her.

  “I had the impression he thought he was on to something big,” Mike said with obvious reluctance. “But you have to understand, Skeeter was odd. He’d get excited about the smallest things. An arrowhead, a jackrabbit’s track.”

  “You didn’t believe him?” she pressed.

  Shrugging again, he looked uncomfortable. “There’s a million legends about lost gold in the Arizona desert, but rarely has any loot been found. Hundreds, maybe thousands have hunted for the famous Lost Dutchman mine with no success.”

  “I’ve heard of that one. It’s close by, isn’t it?” She was intrigued by the idea more than she cared to admit. Her father’s blood ran in her veins in spite of his absence.

  He nodded, then pointed to the purple and blue horizon. Those are the Superstition Mountains. Supposedly Jacob Waltz, the Dutchman, mined a fortune in gold out there, but died before he revealed the exact location.”

  “Is that what my father was looking for?” Anger boiled in her stomach. A myth had stolen her father from her?

  “I don’t know. Probably. Maybe.” He fiddled with his fork.

  “When did he first stay here?” She picked at the fruit, her appetite gone. Her father had abandoned his family and career to chase ghost mines across the Arizona desert? That hurt more than she cared to admit.r />
  “Many years ago. The head wrangler and he were friends. Skeeter and he would shoot the breeze for hours.”

  “And would you have allowed him to use the phone?” She knew the answer before he gave it to her.

  “Of course.” Mike avoided her gaze.

  Mallory didn’t press any more. Her throat was too tight to force another word out. Her dad could’ve called her, yet didn’t bother. Nothing to make a girl feel less than loved. She would not go down this road. She could not.

  “One of the wranglers bumped into him last fall,” Mike said. “Skeeter was sick, pneumonia, I think, and he needed to be inside, out of the weather. I invited him to stay until he felt better. He was reluctant, but he really needed medical attention and follow-up care. But as soon as Skeeter felt better, he went back to the desert. He was like a lizard or a desert rat, happiest alone out there. I got so I’d pick up supplies for him when I went to town. Once in a while he’d stick around for a day or two.”

  “And he was ill again this last time?” A pang tugged her heart. Sad that her own father didn’t have anyone to care for him. Mike Malone, a virtual stranger. Not his family.

  “Not to my knowledge. I think he was just worn out. He didn’t say anything.” Mike’s tone held regret.

  “He didn’t say much at all, did he?” Mallory didn’t try to disguise her anger this time.

  “I’m sorry,” Mike offered.

  “He never mentioned me or my mother?” Although Mike had already told her as much, she wanted to hear it again. Maybe if she heard it enough times she would believe it.

  A flash of pity crossed his face. “I’m sorry, no. I had no idea Skeeter had a family.”

  His pity made her want to scream. Or rant. Something, anything, to make all the sadness go away. “Apparently he forgot us altogether. Did he ever tell you what he had been doing for the last twenty-two years for money? He had to have some kind of income, some way to survive. Even a bum has to eat.”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “What about when you picked up supplies? How did he pay?”

  “With cash.”

  “So he had to have some kind of work. But what?” Mallory shook her head, her glasses sliding down her nose. Absently, she pushed them back in place. “I wonder if I could find out more.”

  “What good is this going to do you?” Mike asked gently. “Unraveling your father’s past won’t bring him back.”

  “You don’t understand,” Mallory said almost desperately. “If I find out who my dad was, maybe I’ll figure out some things about myself.”

  “Such as?”

  She glanced at the nearby mountains, unwilling to tell him she was exactly like her dad– unable to sustain a meaningful relationship for more than a short time. That she didn’t get close to people because they’d only leave her in the end. “How to stick around, I guess.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I don’t want to trouble you,” Mallory insisted.

  “You’re not bothering me,” Mike said. “Trust me.”

  Uncomfortable with the warmth in his blue eyes, she changed the subject. “I need to make plans. I first thought I should take my dad home and bury him next to Mom. Instead, I made arrangements to have his body cremated. I need to find a place to scatter the ashes.”

  “I have an idea,” Mike said. “If you’re done eating I’ll show you.”

  Pushing away her food, Mallory said, “I’m ready.”

  After stowing their plates in the dishwasher, Mike led her back outside. “Where are we going?”

  “Not far.” He went to the SUV. “Get in and I’ll show you.”

  He drove the opposite direction of the ranch, down a twisting, narrow dirt road deep into the desert. In a few minutes, the lane opened up to a mesquite-shaded area. Mike turned off the engine and got out, motioning for Mallory to follow. He went to a low, falling-down adobe fence. “Come see this.”

  Together they walked to an ornate iron gate and went through. Mallory paused and glanced up. Intertwined among roses and vines was a cross, two arms broken off. She stepped inside and was surprised to find herself inside what must’ve been a garden at one time. She glanced around. There was no grass, no fountains or statues and only a single palo verde tree shaded one corner. A bright red cardinal flitted by. This spot was a perfect place for a desert rat. “What is this place?”

  He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “This is what’s left of the original homestead. A courtyard. I’d be proud to have Skee– er, Gary rest here. This place isn’t pretty by most standards, but he would probably like to be out here in the desert he loved.”

  “Why are you being so nice? Skeeter wasn’t related to you.” She searched his profile for answers.

  “Maybe not, but he deserves a last resting place he’d like. I’m pretty sure this would suit him.” Taking a few steps, he studied the ground. “There was a marker here at one time, but not anymore.”

  “If you’re certain, then yes, I’d like him to be here. In a way, he was more family to you than he was me.” Her heart ached at the truth in her statement.

  “I’m positive.” He ignored her remark.

  “Thank you for being so generous.” Mallory touched his arm for a second, then dropped her hand. “I’m sure Skeeter would like to be here.”

  “Skeeter?” He looked at her then, lifting his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know him by anything else,” Mallory said. “So, yes, I’m going to call my father Skeeter from now on. Do you have time to take me to the city so I can get things under way?”

  “Sure,” Mike agreed easily. “But there’s no rush.”

  “I think there is,” Mallory disagreed. “The sooner I can get this over with, the better. I have a week off from work. Enough time to try and follow my father’s tracks and figure out both of us.”

  “Maybe it’d be better to leave Pandora’s box closed,” Mike suggested.

  “I can’t,” Mallory said. “I just can’t. I have to try and understand.”

  ~*~

  A petite, graying blond with dark gray eyes, the coroner didn’t look like Mallory’s idea of a person who dealt with dead bodies, but she hadn’t met too many coroners either. The doctor’s handshake was firm and quick. “Miss James. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry to tell you that your father’s remains are not ready. We’re backlogged and there’s no way we can get to him until the end of the week.”

  “Oh no.” She had hoped to have this over and done with quickly. “Do you have any idea of what happened to him yet?”

  “Probably heart failure, but like I said on the phone, I’m not sure. Something’s bothering me, but I don’t want to comment on it yet. I’ll call you when I have a definitive answer and his body is ready to be released. We have some paperwork you need to fill out. If you’ll follow me?”

  Mallory followed the coroner into a second room, an ordinary office with dark paneling. After she signed a few papers, Dr. Anson handed over Skeeter’s clothes, a folded paper, and a small vial. “You can take these now. We found these items sewn inside his pant leg.”

  Mallory took the stack with trembling hands. She glanced at the paper. “What is this?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Some kind of map. And the little jar has gold dust in it.”

  “Gold dust? Are you serious?” Mallory shoved her glasses back up her nose.

  “Completely.”

  Mallory held the little plastic tube up to the light and examined the particles inside. Flakes of gold glittered. “I wonder what this is worth?”

  “Probably not much,” the doctor said. “I doubt there’s enough there to even take to an assayer. But I recognize it for what it is.”

  “Why on earth would Skeeter carry around a minuscule amount of gold?” Mallory rolled it around in her palm. The glass warmed in her grip. Had he found one of the lost mines? Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I have no idea,” Dr. Anson said. “Unless it was a good luck charm.”

  “Cou
ld someone have killed him for gold?” With no idea where the idea came from, Mallory was nearly as surprised as the doctor by her question. She told herself it wasn’t so crazy. A lot of people had died for gold through the ages.

  Dr. Anson hesitated just long enough to make Mallory wonder if she had hit upon something. Then she gave her a head a quick, firm shake. “I can’t say without an autopsy, but my first inclination is to say no. Again, I believe Mr. James died of natural causes.”

  Mallory felt a little foolish, like she’d watched too many episodes of CSI, but the thought niggled at her. Had Skeeter found one of the lost gold mines in the desert after all? She threw off the idea. It was ridiculous. The man had died a penniless indigent.

  The doctor tapped a finger on the desk. Mallory thanked her and gathered the map and the gold dust. She tucked the map and gold in her shoulder bag, planning to go over the map in detail later. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch.”

  Back in the SUV, she kept her thoughts to herself. Maybe she was being foolish, but how much did she know about Mike Malone? He was in financial difficulty, after all. How far would he go to save his ranch? Did he know if Skeeter had found a gold mine? Would he kill for it? She shook herself mentally. How ridiculous. The thought trickled back. Or was it?

  But, if that was the case, why had he called her down here?

  To bury Skeeter, of course. Mike didn’t know about the vial and map. He probably figured she’d come down, bury her father, and go quietly back to her life. She was stretching. Mike seemed like a nice guy, incapable of foul play.

  Mike was quiet on the drive back to the ranch. Lost in thought herself, Mallory touched the vial of gold in her pocket. It wasn’t impossible that Skeeter had found one of the lost mines. He’d dedicated his life to the task. Not a complete romantic, he had a degree in archeology. Maybe she could find out if he had succeeded in his quest. If he had, it might make all his sacrifices somehow worthwhile. Maybe his life would have some meaning.

  Mike’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Would you like to have a barbeque with some of my friends?”