by Lyssa Layne
Mallory shivered. “Is that what you were doing out there? Looking for troublemakers?”
“I was in bed.” He pulled a thorn and she jerked. He tightened his hold.
“But you came from the desert, not the ranch.” She distinctly remembered the direction his flashlight had come from and it hadn’t been from the buildings.
“I came the long way, from the lodge. You sounded like you were closer to the river.” He placed her left hand on her lap and picked up the other to begin pulling spines. She didn’t believe him, but she wasn’t going to argue about it.
He painstakingly pulled the needles from her skin. As the pain began to lessen, she noticed his tousled blond hair as he bent over her hand. Had more than sleep mussed it? Had Dianna run her fingers through his sun-bleached locks? Mallory was surprised to find the idea bothered her. Why? She had no right to care. She’d barely met the man. He was only a kind stranger, absorbed with the problems in his own life.
Shelby stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Alan peered over her shoulder. “What’s going on? We saw the lights and wondered what was up.”
Mike answered, “Mallory thought she heard a horse and went after him. She met up with a Cholla.”
“Oh, man,” Shelby said. She moved beside Mallory and sat. “That sucks.”
Alan hovered at Mike’s shoulder. “You’re going to be one sore girl for a few days. If you’re not careful, you can get an infection where those spines went in.”
“She’s not going to get an infection,” Mike said. “I’m getting all of them.”
“There’s no way to get them all,” Alan insisted. “She ought to go to the hospital.”
Tired of them talking about her as if she weren’t there, Mallory said, “I don’t need a hospital. I’ll be fine once all the thorns are out. If you have some Benadryl, I’ll take that.”
“Almost there,” Mike said. Mallory winced as he dug at a stubborn spine.
Shelby placed her hand on Mallory’s shoulder. “He’s almost done.”
“Did you find the horse?” Alan asked.
“Yeah, when he mowed me down,” Mallory said. “And knocked me into the Cholla. After that, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to where he went.”
“Do you mind going to take a look?” Mike directed the question to Alan. “There’s nothing you can do here but watch. If the gate’s open the whole herd might get out.”
Alan stood. “No problem.”
“I’m going to stay here.” Shelby came to her feet. “I’ll get the warm water and glue.”
“Glue?” Mallory asked, alarmed. What did she intend to do, stick her to her seat so she couldn’t cause any more trouble?
“You cover the entry wounds with glue, cover it with gauze, let it dry and then pull the bandage loose. It’ll bring out the thorns Mike can’t see,” Shelby explained. She turned and walked Alan out.
“Don’t look so worried,” Mike said. “Shelby’s a nurse. She’s pulled tons of cacti out of guests.”
“I’m so sorry to cost everyone their sleep.” She wasn’t a very good houseguest.
“Don’t be sorry,” Mike said, his voice husky. “This place is so quiet it’s like Tombstone after the gunfight.”
In spite of her misery, Mallory smiled. “I bet this is a wonderful place when you’re busy. Not that it isn’t now, but it must be so full of fun and life when you’re operating.”
He placed the tweezers aside and looked up. “It is.”
“What an amazing way to live,” she said. “People dream about living the way you do.”
“It’s all I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been in the hospitality business my whole life. I don’t know how to do anything else, and I don’t want to.”
Mallory didn’t know how to respond. From the looks of things, he might well have to find another line of work. If the SRPL won, he’d be out on the streets looking for a job. He’d said he’d do anything to protect the ranch. Once again she was reminded of Skeeter’s gold and map. “Is there any gold left in the mountains?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s doubtful. Those stories are just legends. Every area has them. The west, and especially Arizona, has more than their fair share. Why do you ask?”
She was saved from answering by the reappearance of Shelby carrying a pan of water, a towel, glue, and bandages. “Got the stuff. Ready?”
“I think I’ve done all I can with the tweezers.” Mike took hold of her sweater jacket sleeve and pulled, careful not to get any of the clinging cactus in her arms or his hands. Then he moved aside and Shelby sat by Mallory.
“Put your hands in here,” she said.
Mallory did as told. “Ouch.”
“I bet that stings.” Shelby made a sympathetic face. She told Mike, “Grab a glass of water and some Benadryl from the cabinet in the kitchen.”
He did as bid as the two women sat in silence.
When he came back, Mallory was drying her hands on a hand towel. She took the medicine and water from him and swallowed them. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He picked up the glue and covered her palms with it. Next he wrapped gauze bandages over it. “We need to let this dry, then we’ll pull the bandages free.”
While they waited, Alan rejoined them. “I checked everything, and the gates are secure.” He paused. “And all the horses are where they should be.”
“You sure?” Mike asked.
“Positive,” Alan said. “I counted twice. Every horse is in. The little burro, too.”
“He must’ve gone back.” Mallory looked from one pair of skeptical eyes to another. “I didn’t go on a wild goose chase. I’m telling you I heard a horse and went after him.”
“The gates were closed,” Alan said. “Unless one of the horses closed it behind him, he wasn’t out tonight.”
“I know what I heard,” Mallory protested. She wasn’t crazy. Or hearing things.
“I know you think you heard something,” Mike said, “but it’s an unfamiliar environment. Maybe you just heard the horses in the corral moving around. Sound jumps around in the desert. You’re tired, maybe you were hearing things.”
Mallory bit her tongue. She lived and worked in the desert. Yes, sound carried, but it didn’t just come up with the wind or out of nowhere. And she wasn’t so tired she fell down in a pile of Cholla for the fun of it. She knew what she knew. But she wasn’t going to convince these people.
“I guess.”
She didn’t miss the look the three shared between them.
The glances that said she was off her bean. But she knew she’d followed a horse, she knew she’d been knocked down on purpose, and she knew Mike hadn’t been in his bed when she knocked on his door.
She touched the wrap on her hands. “Is this ready?”
Mike lifted one edge. “Yes.”
Mallory held her breath as he tugged the homemade poultice from her skin. Surprisingly it didn’t hurt. All she felt was a slight pull as the glue lifted the last thorns from her tender, red skin.
“You okay?” Mike asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” Feeling normal would take a few days, but compared to an hour ago, she felt like a new woman. “I’m so grateful. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted, too.”
“I am beat,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”
She shook her head. “No. Just a bed.”
“I’ll walk you,” he said.
Alan and Shelby wished her well, said their goodbyes, and left.
Keeping the blanket around her waist like a skirt, Mallory lumbered down the hall. Mike steadied her with his hand under her elbow and she was grateful for his support. The ordeal had taken more out of her than she realized and she felt slightly sick to her stomach and weak in the knees.
“I did see the horse, you know,” she muttered.
“I’m sure you did,” he said. But his tone suggested he still didn’t believe her.
“I wouldn’t
lie about it,” she said. “Or wander out in the desert at night for no reason.”
“But Alan says the horses are all secure,” he said.
She didn’t have an answer for that. “I know.”
“Get some rest, and we’ll talk about it in the morning,” he suggested.
They reached her door. Mallory stumbled to a stop, the hair rising on her neck and arms. “I didn’t leave this like this,” she said.
Mike threw her a puzzled look, then shifted his gaze to the door. It stood wide open. “What the—”
“I pulled it shut behind me,” Mallory said in a strangled tone. “I distinctly remember.”
Mike reached inside and flipped on the light switch.
Expecting the worst, maybe a trashed room, Mallory held her breath and stepped over the threshold. Other than the drapes swaying in the breeze from the AC, everything looked exactly the same. With a panicked glance at Mike, she searched the bathroom, under the bed, and in the closet. Nothing was out of place, but she couldn’t shake the feeling someone lurked nearby.
“You okay?” Mike asked.
“Yes.” She nodded. Then she shook her head no. “Not really. I know that door was shut when I left. Someone opened it.”
“It probably didn’t latch right,” he said. Although his tone was patient, she could see by his slightly arched brows he thought she had gone round the bend.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. Unease plagued her and her gaze skittered around. Then it hit her. Her purse had been moved. “My bag. It’s in a different place.”
He frowned. “What are you saying? That someone rifled your purse? No one here would do something like that.”
She picked up her oversized bag and looked inside. Her wallet, keys, and return airline ticket were all as she left them. But something was different. She dug around again. The map. It was gone. She opened her mouth to say so, then snapped it shut. Remembering the way he reacted earlier, she decided it best to keep her peace.
“Everything in order?” he asked.
“Yes.” She walked to the sliding door and locked it. “I need some rest. It’s almost dawn.”
“Feel free to sleep in. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if I’m not around,” he said with a kind smile.
An ordinary conversation about everyday things, but her heart pounded. Someone had lured her outside to give someone else time to steal her map. She was sure of it. What she wasn’t certain of was whom, or what their motives were. Her skin prickled and she wanted to be alone. With a pointed glance at the bed, she hoped he’d go. Right now she didn’t trust him all that much.
Taking the hint, he moved to the door. “I’ll wait until you lock it.”
Not slamming it behind him took all her willpower. She fastened the deadbolt, then double checked it. Still not satisfied, she pushed the ladder-back chair from the desk under the knob.
Leaving on the light, she climbed into bed and tried to figure out who wanted her gone from her room long enough to steal Skeeter’s map.
Mike was the only who knew she had it.
CHAPTER SIX
Mike walked back to his suite, wanting to kick his own butt with every step. He hadn’t expected Dianna to chop Mallory down like grass in front of a lawn mower. She said she’d help him get a look at Mallory’s map. Was this Dianna’s idea of helping? By seriously injuring someone? He wasn’t going for anything that drastic. If Mallory found out he was the one who stolen her map, she’d hate him.
Unable to sleep, he’d gotten up to check the lodge.
When he’d walked down the hall, and spotted Mallory’s door standing wide open, he’d taken advantage of the opportunity and taken her map. But he sure hadn’t wanted her to get hurt, or to be frightened. Her poor hands had made him sick and the look in her eyes when she realized the map was missing tore at his conscience until he’d nearly confessed.
He chased away the thought and tried to make himself believe that what he’d done was the right thing. It didn’t work. He didn’t think he’d ever felt worse in his whole life.
He sat at his desk and placed the two jagged halves of the map together. A tear ran up one side, missing landmarks. Taking a closer look, Mike spotted Tortilla Flat and Goldfield, and someone, probably Skeeter, had marked the location of the Cholla with an X. Probably just to orient himself.
Running a hand through his hair, Mike sat back and stared out the window. The sun was just rising over the Superstitions, casting a pink and golden glow over their peaks. Like everyone else in Arizona, he’d heard the legend of the Lost Dutchman. That story was the most famous, but there were dozens more like it. Like anyone who had a romantic heart, Skeeter had apparently wanted to believe. But unlike most people, he’d chased shadows across the desert for a quarter of a century. This map was useless. No secret code, no clear lines directing him to the rich mine. Nothing at all. Just an old map of the area. Worthless. Less than that. Mike had one more valuable in the library. Drawn by the cavalry, the map he owned was worth a small fortune.
Mike wasn’t going to throw away his life like the old desert rat had. And he wasn’t going to hurt Mallory. Somehow, he had to make up for what he had done. The first thing was to slip the map back in her purse. After she rested and felt better, he’d show her around. He’d do his best to see she connected with her father in some way.
Then he had to figure out a way to fight the SRPL with no money.
~*~
Mallory groaned and rolled over.
She fumbled with her glasses and moaned again when she read the green lights on her portable clock.
11:59 P.M.
A minute before noon.
She glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings. The night before came rushing back to her as she noted the chair under the door and the bright bathroom light. She examined her palms. Although sore, they looked okay. A little red in spots, but not unbearable. No one would guess she’d stuck them in a pile of Cholla. Mike had been so kind the way he had painstakingly pulled the tiny needles from her skin. A tingle swept through her and she forced it away. She wanted to go home as soon as possible and forget him, this ranch, and her time here.
Liar.
What she really wanted was to find out more about Skeeter.
And if she were honest, Mike.
Rain pounded the glass door and it sounded like quite a storm. Great. Leave it to her to bring rain to Arizona, the state that usually got less than none. So much for exploring the desert today. Throwing off her covers, she headed for the bathroom. She wouldn’t find out anything lying around like a slug.
After a quick shower, she felt like a new woman. Tidying her room, she noticed her purse. Frowning, she dumped the contents on the bed. Just in case she’d missed the map last night, she searched through her things again. But it wasn’t there. Just as she’d known it wouldn’t be. Who had taken it, and why? Mike? But for what reason? Did he think the old map had some validity? He had acted weird last night when she dropped it. She couldn’t believe he would steal from her after he’d been so nice.
After replacing her things and making sure that her door was locked safely behind her, she headed for the kitchen. She slowed at Mike’s door, but didn’t stop. He didn’t need to babysit her more than he already had. He’d invited her to use the kitchen, so she didn’t think he’d mind if she fixed herself a cup of tea and some toast.
No one was around, so locating a cup and an herbal tea bag took a few minutes but she eventually succeeded. While the microwave nuked the water, she found wheat-berry bread and stuck two pieces in the twelve-slice toaster. In the light of the clean, normal kitchen, Mallory could almost forget the events of the night before. The Benadryl box sat by the sink and she took two more as a precaution against a late reaction, but she didn’t think she would have one now after several hours rest.
As she was buttering her bread, Brent slipped in. Under the bright fluorescent lights, he looked even thinner and more ill than he had the night before. He look
ed surprised to find her there but his tone was friendly. “Morning. Finding everything all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” Mallory took her tea from the microwave. “Is there sugarless sweetener anywhere?”
He pointed to a container beside her. “There.”
“Thanks.” She opened two packets and added them to her tea. Sipping it, she studied him. For someone who made his living in the sun his skin didn’t show the effects. A pasty gray shade, it looked as if he hadn’t been outside in a long time.
“I heard you had a wild night. Are you okay?” He moved to the fridge, rummaged around and slipped something in his pocket. Because the open door stood between them, she couldn’t tell what it was. Probably an orange or an apple.
“Fine.” She tried to think of a way to ask him who he thought might’ve taken the horse out as a lure but nothing came to mind.
“Are you an archeologist, like your dad?” His question took her off guard. He had seemed interested in Skeeter last night, too. He closed the fridge and turned back toward her.
“I have a minor in it,” she said, “but my specialty is Environmental Science.”
A frown swept across his skeletal face and his brown eyes filled with disgust. “Oh.”
She squared her shoulders for what was coming. “I teach at UNLV.”
“You’re an environmentalist,” he almost spat.
“Yes, I care about the environment.” She wasn’t radical about her beliefs, but she did care that there were resources for the next generations. She refused to apologize for it. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see two sides of a story. Like here, for instance—”
“What about here?” Mike asked as he came in the room. “How’re your hands?”
Without waiting for an answer, he took one palm and examined it. His touch was gentle, sending a quiver through her that had nothing to do with her sore palms.