by Lyssa Layne
“Yes, they’re part of a herd that roams the Tonto National Forest.” He watched a sorrel mare and her matching foal dart between the tall saguaros. A minute later, a pinto stallion followed. No matter how many times he saw the mustangs, he was awed by them.
“There’s a large herd in the foothills outside Vegas.” She watched them with a rapt look. “I love to get out and watch them when I can.”
“If we’re going to see Tortilla Flat we’d better go.” He hated breaking the mood.
“Yes, we should go.” She straightened. “Thank you for showing me the horses.”
“You’re welcome.”
The only sound in the Durango was the sound of the windshield wipers sloshing back and forth across the glass and the rumble of the tires as they sped down the dirt road. He slowed to cross a low spot in the two-lane highway. Although water ran in a fast stream it was low enough he could easily see the yellow lines and he flipped on the four-wheel drive and crossed with no trouble.
“Will it get higher?” Mallory pressed her nose to the glass and watched as they forded the stream.
“Possibly.” She seemed nervous and he strove to calm her. “But the Durango is high enough it shouldn’t be a problem.”
True to his word, he guided the SUV through the water with ease.
A few minutes later, he drove into Tortilla Flat and slowed to a crawl. Only six people lived here, in what had been a stop on a stage route. He parked in front of a building with a carved Indian chief in front. Together, they got out and walked inside.
At the bar, stood a row of saddles made into bar stools. Mike waited until Mallory seated herself, then he took the next saddle over. He’d been here before with other guests, but he wanted Mallory to like it. The scent of hamburgers and green chili teased his nose, and Mike realized how hungry he was. A radio played an old Waylon Jennings song and he hummed along with the tune about good-hearted women and the men who loved them.
A short, bald man with a well-groomed stark white mustache and beard came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Well, hello. I didn’t hear you come in. What can I get you?”
“Are you hungry?” Mike asked Mallory.
“Starving.”
“We’ll take two hamburgers with the works.” Mike waited until the waiter-cook left. “Hamburgers are the only thing they serve out here.”
“Oh, I see,” she said.
In a few minutes the scent of grilling meat reached them and the man came back, carrying a plate of tortilla chips and salsa. “I almost forgot, what can I get you to drink?”
Mike glanced at Mallory. “Two cokes, please.”
“Done,” the man said. He handed them two old-fashioned coke bottles. “I’m Pete Bernard. Chief cook and bottle washer. Owner, too.”
Mike shook his hand. “Mike Malone. And this is Mallory James.”
Pete’s bright blue eyes sharpened. “James? Any relation to Skeeter?”
“He was my dad,” Mallory said. “He died a few days ago.”
Pete shook his head sadly. “I sure am sorry to hear that. Skeeter was quite the character. He lent an air of authenticity to this old place. That cute little burro, too. They were the pair. Tourists loved them. Always taking his picture...asking questions about the desert. Skeeter was a walking encyclopedia. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about the area.”
“You said he allowed people to take his picture? You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?” Mallory’s voice shook with excitement.
Pete rubbed his chin. “You know, I just might. Hold on.” He disappeared in the kitchen and the sound of sizzling meat reached their ears. He came back in a few minutes carrying a few pictures. “I found these in my desk. You’re welcome to them.”
Mike looked over Mallory’s shoulder as she studied the images. Someone had taken pictures of Skeeter outside the building in which they sat. He looked the same as the last time Mike had seen him alive—wearing a dusty fedora, checked shirt, and faded jeans, holding a lead rope attached to Nobody. He didn’t smile; his eyes were creased at the corners.
Mallory’s fingers shook as she traced his face.
“Do you recognize him?” Mike asked. “I bet he’s changed a bit.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Waiting for her to get her emotions under control, Mike asked Pete, “How long ago were these taken?”
“Oh, let’s see.” He tugged on his beard. “I’d say about six months.”
“You’re sure it’s okay if I keep these?” Mallory’s voice trembled.
“Oh, sure.” Pete smiled at her. “I don’t need them.” He backed into the kitchen and returned in a flash with their meals. Placing the food in front of them, he sat behind the bar. “So, did old Skeeter leave you a mint in gold?”
Mike jerked his head up from his food, waiting for her answer.
“No. Not unless you consider one small vial of gold dust a mint.” She toyed with her napkin. “I guess he died an indigent.”
Pete shook his head again. “That’s hard to believe. He didn’t make a habit of eating here, but when he did come in, he paid in cash. Never left a tip though. Tight old geezer.”
“Where do you think he got the money?” Mallory asked.
The cook shrugged. “I wouldn’t wager a guess. I always thought he found an old mine or filed a claim on a new one. As long as I’ve known him, he didn’t do much but drag that little burro around.”
“Did he say anything about where he might have a claim?” Mike picked up a chip and dipped into fragrant salsa. He bit down on the spicy combination and almost forgot his question.
“No way.” Pete chuckled. “Skeeter was a wily one. He wouldn’t have let a soul know where he had a claim, if he did.”
“Then why do you think he had a mine?” Mike pressed.
“Because no one can live on nothing.” Pete smiled. “And because he mailed something from the post office once a month.”
Mallory spoke. “Do you know what?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“But you think it was something valuable?” Mallory hadn’t touched her burger.
“Maybe. He didn’t say.” Pete rubbed his beard. “I only know he mailed a brown business sized envelope once a month. I figured it was something important.”
“Did he get mail?” Mallory leaned forward, her voice intent.
Pete shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
“Who is the postmaster?” She moved as if to stand.
“Well, me,” he said.
“Then why can’t you tell me if my father got mail?” Her body sagged back onto the saddle.
“’Cause that’s privileged information,” he said. “I’d be breaking the law if I told you that.”
“You didn’t mind telling us he mailed something out,” Mike reminded him.
“That’s different.” Pete picked up a rag and wiped the bar. “I don’t know where it went, or to who. But I do know if something came in and who it was from. Not that I’m saying there was anything, mind you.”
Watching Mallory’s face out of the corner of his eye, Mike wanted to reach across the bar and take the little bald bastard by the neck and shake the information out of him. Couldn’t he see she was hurting? Any idiot could see she was dying for information about her father. “She’s his next of kin. Doesn’t that make her eligible to know Skeeter’s business?”
“Not until I see something in writing.” Pete paused with his cleaning and looked Mike in the eye. “The law’s the law. Even here in Tortilla Flat.”
“Will a death certificate do?” Mallory asked. “I don’t have it here with me, but I can bring it back.”
“That’ll do.” Pete began wiping the bar again. “You understand. Rules are rules.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
Mike’s appetite had fled and he didn’t think Mallory was hungry any more either. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She shoved her glasses up on her nose in t
he way he was beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. Endearing and sweet.
He looked at Pete. “Do you have any take-out boxes?”
“Sure do.” He reached behind the counter and handed them two Styrofoam containers.
Mike put their uneaten meals in them and handed Pete a bill. “Keep the change.”
He lifted it and said with a wave, “Don’t forget to bring me that paperwork.”
Mallory smiled weakly and Mike ushered her out the door. The rain had become a drizzle. “Would you like to walk through town?”
She nodded and began to stride away. He caught up and together they toured the tiny town. He couldn’t read her mood and he didn’t want to pry, so he walked silently at her side as she took in the village.
At the post office she stopped. “I cannot believe this was my father’s life. He was well-respected in his profession, and he was loved by my mother and me. What in heaven’s name could have enticed him to live like this? Like some kind of extra in an old western movie? I just don’t understand.”
He had no words or wisdom to offer. All he had was sympathy. He did the only thing he could. He took her in his arms and held her. She felt so small and so frail as she shook in his arms. He wanted to protect her, to make her hurt go away. But he didn’t have the power to do so. All he could offer was comfort. For a few minutes she stood in the circle of his arms. She pulled back from him and turned away. He caught a glimpse of tears on her cheeks, but she ducked her head and wiped them with her palms.
“We should go,” she said.
“There’s no hurry.” He was willing to let her take her time.
“I’ve kept you too long,” she insisted. “And I’ve seen everything I want to.”
He couldn’t argue that and hurried to keep up as she almost ran back to the Durango.
Inside the warm, leather-scented interior he started the ignition. “We’ll come back as soon as you get Skeeter’s death certificate.”
She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s the point? I found out what I came for. I guess I hoped deep down inside that Skeeter was more than a bum. But that’s not the case, is it? He was exactly what he appeared to be. A man who walked away from his wife and child to live in the desert with a burro. He was cold, heartless. I don’t want to know any more.”
Mike sat in silence as grief and rage poured out of her.
“All these years I’ve held on to the stupidest dreams. Like he was an amnesiac and couldn’t find his way back home. And let’s not forget the CIA theory. I thought he might’ve been forced to live undercover and he couldn’t come back because he’d put us in danger.” She laughed bitterly. “I am such a fool.”
“You’re anything but a fool.” Mike’s chest tightened. He wished he had the magic cure to make her feel better. “You’re smart. And pretty. And wonderful.” The words came easily. He didn’t have to struggle to find them. “And your dad was a damn fool to miss out on all you are. I bet his wife was great, too.”
She sniffed. “My mom was pretty special.”
“She had to have been something great if she raised you.” Mike reached across the seat and took one of her cold hands in his. “Look, I don’t know why your dad took off, but I do know he couldn’t have been thinking clearly when he did. He was a jackass.
She shook her head. “You didn’t know the same man I did. He was brilliant and wonderful and—”
“A louse.” Mike cut her off. “A wonderful man doesn’t abandon his wife and child with no word for twenty years. That’s a rotten human.” Mallory didn’t correct him, but he had the feeling she wanted to again. “You’re right. I didn’t know Gary James, Professor. I knew Skeeter James, desert rat. I thought he was a confirmed bachelor with no ties anywhere. He wasn’t the person you believed him to be. Grieve for all he lost, not for what you never had.”
A tear fell down her cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb.
She turned her face away from him, trying to hide her tears. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head toward him. Her big doe eyes swam and his heart clenched. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
A sob escaped her. “I know.”
Right then and there Mike vowed he’d rather rip out his own liver with his teeth than ever see her hurt like this again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mallory pulled out of Mike’s grasp. The combined look of pity and kindness in his eyes nearly undid her. She would’ve liked for him to wrap his arms around her again and let him comfort her, but she’d relied on herself most of her life. She wasn’t going to start depending on anyone else now. Especially a man. Not even this one.
“I’m fine.” She wiped her nose with a Kleenex from her pocket.
He started the SUV, backed out and turned toward Goldfield. “The rain’s letting up.”
Mallory wiped her nose again. “Yes.”
As the rain dried up, the craggy gray peaks were nearly hidden behind swirling, lifting mist. They looked like aging ladies wearing lace mantillas. “The mountains are so beautiful.” Mallory sighed. “I can see why Skeeter loved these hills.”
“He was an old fool,” Mike said. “If I’d known the truth, I would have felt completely different about him.”
Mallory turned toward him. “Don’t say that. Skeeter was apparently fond of you. He needed your friendship in his life. I don’t want you to hate him now.”
“I can’t respect him now.” Mike’s jaw was set in a hard line.
“I’m responsible for making you feel this way. And I don’t like it.” Regret filled Mallory. Skeeter had done so many reprehensible things. Now, in death, he didn’t have his one reliable friend.
“Wrong.” He looked at her, his dark blue eyes angry. “I’m responsible for myself.”
The more she was around him, the more she liked him. More than a sexy, big man with killer bedroom eyes, he was too nice to be believed.
Her head screamed Danger! Danger! Danger!
Her heart whispered something altogether different.
~*~
Mallory grabbed the dashboard as Mike braked hard.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered.
The wash they’d crossed less than two hours earlier was now full of angry, rushing water. A black SUV with the word The Jumping Cholla stenciled across the side sat directly in the middle of the creek. Nobody appeared to be in it.
“Why is one of your vehicles out here in the middle of a flood?” Mallory’s gaze was riveted on the stranded SUV. “Aren’t we about twenty miles from the ranch?”
“Yeah. I have no idea why it’s there.” Mike opened the door and a gust of wind blew in. “But I better find out if someone’s inside. He grabbed a jacket from the backseat and climbed out.
Mallory followed him to the unsteady bank. Fast-moving muddy brown currents swirled around the SUV. The speed and depth of the water made it impossible to ford. There was no way to cross. Brush, rocks and even an ancient saguaro were swept by in the current. The Durango, facing them, was lodged sideways against a Palo Verde tree, directly in the middle of the flood. The water reached high on the doors.
“Hey,” Mike shouted. “Anyone in there?”
Mallory raised her voice with his. “Brent? Can you hear us?”
Mike glanced at her, but didn’t comment. Tension ran through his voice. “Hello? Answer if you can hear me.”
Nothing but the roar of the water answered.
“I don’t think anyone’s in there.” Mike’s voice was hoarse from shouting.
“I don’t think so either,” Mallory said. “But there’s no way to know for sure until the water goes down.”
Mike grabbed hold of a Palo Verde branch by the bank and stuck a foot toward the river. Mallory grabbed his arm. “Don’t. You know how dangerous that could be. It’s over your waist. The current will sweep you away if you try to cross.”
“There’s a rope in the back of the Durango. I’ll tie it around my waist, then cross.”
&nb
sp; “No.” Mallory’s entire body trembled. “Please don’t risk it. If you get swept off your feet an undertow could pull you down.”
He looked at her and anguish tore across his face. “I can’t stand here while one of my best friends drowns.”
“I don’t think anyone’s in there. If they were, they would be waving or shouting or making some kind of movement. I don’t see anything. Do you?” She made a visor with her hand and tried to see through the windshield.
“Someone could be lying on the seat. Hurt or sick.” He paced up the bank a short distance, then came back.
“I doubt it. I bet whoever was in that car climbed out. I think he went back toward Goldfield.” She touched Mike’s arm.
He stared at the stuck SUV. “I have to find out.”
Mallory pleaded, “Please don’t risk your own life on the off chance somebody’s in there.”
He whirled toward her. “I can’t stand here and wonder.” Pushing by her, he went to the SUV and lifted the trunk. Taking out a long section of rope, he tied it around his waist. Then he attached the other end to the bumper of the parked Durango.
Mallory stood frozen in fear as he made a double knot and tossed his jacket aside. She wasn’t a strong swimmer. He was so much bigger than she was she didn’t think she could pull him from the water if she needed to. She tried one last time. “Mike, I’m afraid for you. Please don’t go in there.”
He looked at her for a minute. His jaw was set in a determined line, his lips pressed together. “I have to. If anything happens, go back to Tortilla Flat. They have phone service there. My cell won’t work here. There’s no reception.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “How can I help?”
“Just hold the rope steady. If anything happens, jump in the car, put it in reverse and jerk me out of there. He handed her the middle section of the rope. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the rushing flood waters. He stood for a minute, bracing against the powerful water. When he had his footing, he took one small step.