by Lyssa Layne
“Thanks,” Mike said from between clenched teeth. “Now, I’ve got a fence to mend.”
“Good luck.” Sheriff Bodine turned and climbed into his car. With a little wave, he drove away.
Mike almost sprinted for the lodge.
He found Mallory lugging her suitcase down the hall. She wouldn’t look at him, or speak. He stepped in front of her. “Mallory, wait.”
She attempted to dart by him. “I should’ve left last night.”
“No. You shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t go now.” He moved in front of her again. She stepped to the right. He moved, too. She stumbled right. He moved faster. They collided.
Finally she stopped. “Please move.”
“Not until you hear me out.” He reached for her hands but she curled them around the handle of suitcase with a death grip, her injured fingers sticking out in a nasty gesture. “I wanted to tell you. I meant to from the beginning but things kept happening. When I thought of it, the time wasn’t right. When the time was right, I didn’t think of it. Please believe me when I say I didn’t keep it from you for any devious reason.”
She smiled a little but she wasn’t amused.
“I mean I did in the beginning, but not the whole time.” He was making a mess out of this. All he wanted was to tell the truth and apologize. He ran a hand over his aching neck. “I admit when I first saw it I thought it might be the answer to my problems. But I never would’ve kept it from you if it turned out to be worth something.”
She snorted and studied a spot over his right shoulder.
“I mean it, Mallory. I put the two pieces together and found out they didn’t have any value. I meant to give them back to you, but I didn’t get it done. I started to last night, but you were tired and hurt. I decided another day wouldn’t matter.” He didn’t know how to get through to her. He’d made too many mistakes.
“You kissed me.” Her voice was flat. “Why?”
“I wanted to.” He ached to touch her, to somehow transmit his feeling to her through his palms into her skin, into her body. But he let his hands hang at his sides. “More than you know.”
Something flickered in her eyes.
“Mallory, I—”
“I can’t stand liars.” She blinked at him.
“I know. I messed up.” He wouldn’t make up excuses. He’d screwed up. Period.
“But I want you to know I don’t think you killed that man.” She wrinkled her nose and her chin trembled. “You wouldn’t do that.”
His own throat worked. “Thank you for telling Bodine that,” he said. He had hurt this beautiful, loyal woman, and for what? A stupid myth he didn’t even believe in.
“It was the truth,” she said.
“You mean it?” He forced himself not to touch her. “Even after everything?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.” He had nothing else.
“Do you promise not to do it again?” She looked up and her big doe eyes were damp.
“I promise.” He wanted to cross his heart like little kids did, but settled for the next best thing. Taking her uninjured hand, he lifted it, turned her palm up and smoothed his lips over it. “I swear.”
Her fingers trembled. “I want to trust you.”
“I won’t let you down again.” He wasn’t good with words or syrupy phrases, but he wanted her to know how much he meant every promise. “Let me show you.”
“How?” Her eyes widened and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.
He kissed her palm again, then her wrist. Letting go, he settled her hand back on her suitcase and cupped her neck. Carefully, he drew her toward him. Their mouths fractions of an inch apart, he said, “Like this.”
She didn’t jerk away, as he expected, and run down the hallway as if her hair were on fire. She didn’t meet him halfway as his lips settled over hers. She tasted like bananas. He wanted to explore the cavern of her mouth, but settled for exploring her full lips with his. He didn’t push her—apologizing with tiny, soft strokes over her lips. She’d let him know when she wanted more.
Gently, unwilling to go too fast, too soon, he circled her slim wrists with his hands. She allowed him to hold her without protest. He’d made progress. He wanted more. Testing, he pried at her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth and he darted in his tongue. She froze and he withdrew. Slow down. Too much too fast. He slid his hands up her arms and her skin warmed under his touch.
Her mouth opened. An invitation. He waited a beat before he accepted. This time she didn’t hold back. Their tongues met, danced. They twisted in a new, yet old ritual. She was going to forgive him.
His heart soared.
“Mike, I—” Dianna’s voice interrupted them. “Oh.”
Rotten timing. Mallory jerked away from him and he wanted to grab her, throw her over his shoulder and run away with her. He turned toward Dianna, hoping she didn’t notice the way his body had reacted to Mallory’s sweet kisses. “What is it?”
“I wanted to find out what the sheriff said.” She didn’t seem to know what to do with her eyes. She looked everywhere but at his face. He knew she’d harbored fantasies of them together. He didn’t like hurting her.
“He said he’d done some checking and your alibi clears you. He made some noise about me being a suspect, but it was more smoke than fire.” He glanced at Mallory. Her pink lips were swollen and slightly parted. His jeans felt tighter.
“Good.” Dianna finally met his eyes. “Anyone who would think you would kill somebody is just crazy.”
“Thanks, Di.”
She turned and waggled her fingers at him as she walked away. “Sure. Anytime.”
His neck hurt worse than it had earlier.
“That was awkward,” Mallory said softly.
“Yeah.” He faced her. “If we’re going to avoid another scene like that one, maybe we should go somewhere more private.”
She waited.
“Like my suite.”
She hesitated.
His heart thudded in painful jolts against his ribs. He wouldn’t push. She had to decide if he had made things right between them. She bit her pink bottom lip. Emotions flashed across her face. Longing, indecision, fear. Longing won.
He held out his hand.
It seemed to hang there for an eternity.
Then she took it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mallory entered Mike’s suite ahead of him. He carried her luggage and set it near the closet. Her heart pounded erratically and her skin felt like a million little needles were pricking it. Mike had confessed and obviously felt bad about what he had done. Her overwhelming attraction for him might be overriding her good sense, but she didn’t think so. He made her heart do silly little moves, and that was more than just a physical response.
He flipped on the CD player and a sultry jazz tune by someone Mallory didn’t recognize floated out from the speakers. If he lit candles, she would leave. Instead, he went to the drapes and pulled them shut. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No.” She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted to feel his hands on her body. A tremor rocked her and she nearly gasped out loud. Slipping off her glasses, she placed them in her sweater pocket.
He moved toward her.
She waited.
On the surface she might appear calm, but her stomach fluttered and her panties had already dampened in anticipation. She twisted her hands together and winced when she bent her injured fingers.
Mike stopped in front of her. He reached for a stray piece of hair on her cheek, brushing it off. She leaned slightly into his hand and he cupped her cheek. With his thumb, he smoothed her lips and she parted them slightly.
The phone rang, the sound a sharp reminder of the outside world. Mallory glanced at it.
“The machine will pick it up.” Mike’s voice came on. This is Mike. Leave me a message.
There was a pause, then a voice. “This is Doctor Anson at the Maricopa County—”<
br />
With a look of regret, he stepped around Mallory and picked up the phone. “This is Mike Malone. Yes, she’s right here. Just a moment.”
Mallory took phone from him. “This is Mallory James.”
“Miss James, I had some time sooner than expected and I have completed a short exam on your father. I have some questions. Do you know why your father would have had cactus in his feet?”
“He lived in the desert. I assume he stepped in it.” She raised her eyebrows at Mike and he nodded. “I don’t think it would be unusual for him to have some in him.”
“Would he have been around cactus, specifically Cholla, in his bare feet?” the doctor asked.
“I would assume so. My father camped out in the desert. I would imagine he came into contact with that cactus.” Mallory shuddered and glanced at her free hand. She’d never forget how much it hurt when she fell into the sticky plant.
“Your father has cactus thorns under his toenails,” the doctor said. “It struck me as odd. I see now that it isn’t.”
“My gosh, that must’ve hurt him.” Mallory couldn’t imagine how Skeeter stood that kind of pain.
“Yes,” Dr. Anson agreed. “And it looks as if he made no move to pull them out.”
“Have you ever been in Cholla?” Mallory asked.
“No,” the doctor said. “But I know it is painful.”
“Very. I can’t imagine someone not getting the thorns out immediately.” Mallory looked at her palm again. Although there was no trace of the cactus, she could easily visualize it.
“Unless they were unconscious,” the doctor commented.
Mallory didn’t answer. The idea of Skeeter lying unconscious with cactus stuck under his toenails was almost too much to bear. “You had another question?”
“Yes. Actually, a comment. Your father had an abnormal amount of insulin in his bloodstream. Was he a diabetic?”
“I don’t know. Just a minute.” Mallory covered the mouthpiece. “Mike, do you know if my father was a diabetic?”
He frowned. “I don’t think so. I would say not. Insulin has to be kept cold and he wouldn’t have had any way to do that in the desert.”
Lifting the receiver, Mallory said, “We don’t think so. But I’m not positive.”
“All right. I need to do some more investigating.”
“Wait,” Mallory said quickly. “I need to close a post office box and I need a death certificate to do that. Can I come in and get one?”
“Not until I determine the cause of death,” the doctor said. “And I’m not quite ready to do that yet. I want to do some more tests on the insulin thing. As I said, I think Friday will be the soonest I can get to it.”
“Thank you.” Mallory hung up.
“Everything okay?” Mike asked.
She took her glasses out of her pocket and slid them on. “I don’t know. That was the coroner. She asked me if Skeeter had any reason to have cactus in his feet. He had thorns under his toenails.” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine.”
“Like you told her, it’s not inconceivable the way he lived,” Mike said. “I’ve stumbled into cactus a few times myself.”
She walked away and pulled back the curtain. The empty pool glimmered in the afternoon sun. “No, but she said it looked like he didn’t even try to take them out. Did he say anything to you when you saw him last?”
“No. I knew he was sick, that’s why I asked him to stay. But I didn’t know how sick he was. He never said a word about cactus. But it was his way to be tightlipped.” Mike moved over to the stereo and turned it off. “What else did the coroner say?”
Mallory bit her thumbnail for a second. “She asked if Skeeter was diabetic, as you know. He had a high level of insulin in his bloodstream. I wonder what that means, if he wasn’t a diabetic? Could he have been and not know it?”
Mike shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Brent does. We could ask him.” At Mike’s surprised look, she said, “Yes, he told me.”
“That’s unusual. He doesn’t like anyone to know.” Mike smiled at her. “He must trust you.”
“I surprised him when he was injecting insulin,” she said. “He wasn’t happy about it.”
“Oh, I see.” His smile faded. “Brent is awfully private about his affairs.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Mallory told him. “It was just an accident that I saw him at all.”
“No harm done.”
“Do you think he’d answer some more questions for me? If he’s that unwilling to share, then maybe I shouldn’t bother him.” She stood undecided.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Mike said. He moved toward the door. “Let’s find him and ask.”
~*~
Mike held Mallory’s hand as they walked down to the small building near the river. Brent was kneeling by one of the rafts. He looked up when they approached but didn’t greet them.
“What’s going on?” Mike asked.
Brent turned the raft. “Look. The bastards have been here, too.” The float had a split all along the side. Every single one is the same.”
“Let me see.” With a sinking heart, Mike examined the twenty or so rafts. They weren’t cheap, and not a single one was repairable. He prayed insurance would cover the cost of replacing them. “This is exactly what Ryan Balderson told me happened at River Adventures.”
“Yeah. The SRPL got to him when he didn’t close down when the judge ordered him to.” Brent looked green around the gills.
“What sicced them on us?” Mike ran a hand through his hair. “Ryan made them mad when he didn’t do what he was supposed to, but we’ve done everything we were told.”
“Maybe it was Wendell Wallace’s murder. Maybe they think one of us did it.” Brent came to his feet. “I don’t know.”
“What’s next?” Mike looked around. “How long have you been here? Are the horses secure? What about the tack?”
“I just got here a minute or so before you did. I’m sure the horses are fine,” Brent said. “But I didn’t look at them yet, and I didn’t think to search the tack room. I probably just missed the bastards.”
“Maybe they were already there,” Mallory reminded him. “And stuck the cactus under Zorro’s saddle blanket. Maybe that wasn’t meant for me. Suppose they did it just for vandalism’s sake and I was the unlucky person who picked up that particular pad.”
“The cinch was cut, too.” Mike hated thinking about her being bucked off. “Maybe it’s time to turn the tables and I need to call Sheriff Bodine and talk to him about this. First, I’m going to take a look at the rest of the tack and make sure there’s no more surprises.”
“That’s a good idea,” Brent said. “By the way, what did you do to piss off Di? I saw her stomp over to Shelby’s and they had a big pow-wow out in the yard for awhile.”
“I kissed Mallory and Dianna saw.” Mike didn’t need to explain further. Dianna had worn her heart on her sleeve; the others knew how she felt.
“Oh man.” Brent shot a glance at Mallory. “That had to burn.”
“Yeah,” Mike said. “I didn’t want to hurt Dianna’s feelings. But it’s better she knows how I feel now than keep hoping for something that isn’t going to happen.”
“You never led her on,” Brent agreed. “But you love who you love.” He grinned at Mallory. “And you found a great girl.”
Mallory smiled back. “Thanks.”
“That reminds me, we actually came down here to ask you some questions about insulin,” Mike said. “Can she talk to you while I call the sheriff?”
Brent looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh, I guess so.”
Mike took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed. A secretary told him Bodine was in the field and would call back later. He put the phone back and listened to Mallory ask Brent a question.
“Why would someone have a high level of insulin in their body if they weren’t diabetic?”
“They probably weren’t diagnosed,” he said flatly.
>
Mallory looked at Mike with despair. He jumped in. “Are you saying that someone couldn’t live with a high amount of insulin in their system?”
“Depends on how high.” Brent looked between them, but fixed his gaze on Mallory. “Why all the questions? You checking up on me?”
“No, I—”
“Was just worried,” Mike said smoothly. “I told her you’re fine. That you know how to take care of yourself.”
“You bet I do.” Brent glared at her. “And I thought you were going to keep things to yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know that much about diabetes or insulin and I just wanted to make sure I could help you if you ever needed it.”
His glare softened. “Okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m great. If that’s all the questions, I’m going to go and make a report about this.” He waved at the ruined rafts. “For insurance.”
“One more thing,” Mike said. “Where were you when you saw Di and Shelby talking?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Mike tried to look nonchalant. “I just wondered what was said.”
“I was standing at my kitchen window. I saw them in Di’s front yard. They didn’t go inside, just stood talking. And no, I didn’t hear their conversation.” He turned away. “I’m out of here.”
“Okay.” Mike watched him go.
Mallory turned toward him. “What was that all about? Why didn’t you want him to know about Skeeter?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“I’m not following your train of thought,” she admitted. “Where are you going with this?”
“I want to hear what the coroner says,” he said. “I want to hear what she rules out. And I want to know if Skeeter suddenly developed diabetes at his age and didn’t know it. That would explain his illness, the reason he lapsed into a coma. I thought he had the flu. Maybe it was something else.”
“It’s not your fault.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You had no way to know.”