The woman examined the card thoroughly, then finally set it down on her desk. "I'm June Hanson. My husband Ralph owns the paper. Did you want to talk to him?"
"I will eventually. Right now, I just want to get a feel for the town and its history."
"I suppose that would be all right." June's tone was grudging. "I'll show you the files."
June Hanson led her down a narrow stairway into the basement, which was filled with file cabinets. "They're all here."
Carly looked around, hoping the files were in some sort of order. If not, she would be spending a lot of time down here. "How far back do the papers go?" She held her breath, waiting for the answer.
June shrugged. "Ralph bought the paper from Joe Whitmore's widow almost twenty years ago. Although he was the editor before he bought the Sentinel, I'm not sure he saved the issues from back then. All the issues we put out are here. There might be some from Whitmore's time way in the back, but they're ancient history." June gave her a sharp glance. "You wouldn't want to look at those, would you?"
Carly forced a smile on her face. "I'm interested in Cameron, Mrs. Hanson, and right now I'm not sure what direction my story will take. I may want to look at some of those old issues."
June looked as if she wanted to say something, but she compressed her lips and looked around the room. As her gaze drifted over the file cabinets, she finally said, "Good luck finding what you need."
Luck was what she would need, Carly thought several hours later. She'd managed to find the most recent issues of the Cameron Weekly Sentinel, but there was no sign of the copies from twenty years ago. And those were the issues she was interested in. She needed to know what had been happening in Cameron in the weeks before her brother was killed, and what had been written about his death. When the dust made her sneeze once more and she realized she was getting a headache, she reluctantly replaced the papers she'd been looking at and headed up the stairs.
Before she reached the office she heard the low rumble of Devlin's voice drift down to her. Pausing, she listened closely but couldn't make out what he was saying. Was he warning the Hanson's not to talk to her? Adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, she bounded up the rest of the steps.
"…remember that you have rights, Ralph," Devlin was saying. "I think you need to get yourself a lawyer and find out what those rights are." She heard the rustle of paper as she approached the door. "Give me that phone number and I'll make sure that the phone calls in the middle of the night stop."
All three of them turned to face her as she walked into the room. June Hanson and a heavy-set, gray-haired man she assumed was Ralph flushed with embarrassment, but Devlin's eyes hardened when he saw her.
"Listening at keyholes, Ms. Fitzpatrick?"
She angled her chin and stared him down. "I've been looking at old newspapers in the basement. I had no idea you were here until I was halfway up the stairs."
He must have seen that she was telling the truth, because his eyes softened. "I apologize, then." He turned to Ralph. "I'll talk to you later about this," he said.
Instead of leaving, he lounged back against the door and watched her. She refused to let him see how much his regard flustered her. Deliberately turning her back on him, she held out her hand to Ralph Hanson.
"I'm Carly Fitzpatrick, Mr. Hanson. Thank you for letting me look at your files."
The older man hurried forward to shake her hand. "Welcome to Cameron, Ms. Fitzpatrick. I'm Ralph Hanson." He shot his wife a worried glance, then looked back at Carly. "My wife told me you were here from Focus to do a story on our town." He drew himself up straight. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, you let me know. Members of the media have to stick together."
"Thank you, Mr. Hanson." Carly gave him a smile and wondered at his nervousness. It must have something to do with whatever they were discussing with Devlin. "I appreciate your help. I'll want to come back and look at your old issues again, if I may."
His smile faded slightly, but he nodded vigorously. "Whenever you like, Ms. Fitzpatrick."
"Please, call me Carly," she said. "And thank you. I'll see you tomorrow or the next day."
Devlin held the door for her and followed her outside. Once the door was closed behind them, he moved to stand in front of her. "I'm not going to allow you to write about the Hanson's problems, or anyone else's problems, for that matter,"
She cocked her head as she watched him. The last thing she'd admit was that she had no interest in exposing the problems of anyone in Cameron, with the exception of her brother's murderer. The only thing she was interested in had happened twenty years ago. But instead of telling him that, she said, "And how are you going to stop me?"
Resting his hand against the building, the sheriff leaned toward her. She'd never felt particularly small before, but Devlin's long, rangy body made her feel tiny.
"If I thought that was what you were going to do, I'd hound you mercilessly. You wouldn't be able to go anywhere in this county without having me as a shadow." His mouth quirked up, but there was no humor in his face. "Surprising as it may seem to you, the people in Cameron trust me. If I told them not to talk to you, they'd listen. Clams would be a lot more talkative than the folks around here."
He meant every word he'd said, Carly realized. He thought she was a threat to the Hanson's. In spite of herself, she softened just a little. How could she not respect a man so fiercely determined to protect the people in his town?
"Believe me, Sheriff, I'm not interested in hurting anyone. I'm not going to detail anybody's problems in Focus. That's not why I'm here." The irony tasted bitter in her mouth. The only people who could consider her a threat were the McAllisters.
He didn't move, but she felt him relax a little. "I'm glad we understand each other."
She almost smiled at that. He didn't understand a thing about her, and if she had her way, he never would. Not until she'd accomplished what she came to Cameron to do. And when that happened, Devlin McAllister wouldn't be looking at her with that hunger in his eyes. No, when she'd finished in Cameron, after she'd exposed his father as a murderer, hate was the very best she could expect from Devlin.
But it wasn't hate she was feeling from him right now. The frost that had filled his gray eyes had melted, and now they gleamed with an unmistakable heat. The air hummed with anticipation, and although he hadn't moved any closer to her, Carly's skin prickled with awareness. When one side of his mouth curled up in a smile, her heart began a slow, tumbling roll.
"There's something I've been thinking about, Carly," he said. His low voice rasped against her nerve endings, awakening them. He said her name like he was savoring the flavor of it, weighing its taste on his tongue. Her pulse speeded up as she watched him.
"What's that?" She couldn't believe that the breathless voice belonged to her.
His smile was slow and sensual, and she had no doubt what was on his mind. Something tightened inside her, sending a wave of sensation crashing through her.
She saw the instant that he recognized her response. His pupils darkened and the flash of heat from his eyes seared her. Then he straightened and took a step backward. "I promised you a tour of Cameron," he said as he shuttered his face. "I have some free time right now. Are you interested?"
She struggled to regain her balance, to steady herself. For one wild moment she questioned whether she had imagined the message in his eyes. Wondered, humiliated, if her own wishful thinking had put it there. Then she saw that his breathing wasn't quite steady, that his hands shook slightly as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Shoving her own hands into her pockets to hide their trembling, she gave him what she hoped was an impersonal smile. She could be as smooth and unaffected as he was trying to appear. "I'd love a tour of Cameron," she said, and was proud of the fact that her voice barely shook. No one who didn't know her well would notice. "If you're sure it's not taking you away from something you need to do."
"I'm at your service."
A tiny part of her, a part that appalled her, wished that his words were true in every sense. This has to stop, she told herself wildly. She refused to be attracted to Devlin McAllister. But that tiny part of her mocked her, nudging her to move closer to Devlin.
Swallowing, she looked around town to remind herself what was at stake. When she could answer him coolly, without any of the heat that burned inside her, she turned back to him.
"I'd like nothing better than to get your impressions of Cameron, Sheriff. I'll be greedy and take as much time as you can give me."
He looked down at her, and the heat was gone from his eyes, as well. "Why don't we start here, on Main Street
? Later I'll drive you around the county."
An hour later they were back in front of the sheriff's office. They'd walked from one end of Main Street
to the other, then toured several of the side streets. Carly knew her hair had long since begun to unravel from its braid and perspiration sheened her skin. The intense sunlight had beaten down on her until she'd felt as if the heat had sunk its fangs into her and shaken her thoroughly. It hadn't seemed to bother Devlin at all.
"Why don't we stop in my office and get something to drink?" he asked.
"That would be wonderful." She sighed in ecstasy as the cool air of the air-conditioned building flowed over her heated skin. "I'm not used to this kind of heat."
"Give yourself a few weeks. You'll hardly notice it." He handed her a cold can of soda.
"I doubt that." She took a long drink, feeling the coldness trickling down her throat, cutting through the dust. "Thank you. I never knew root beer could taste so good."
He grinned at her as he gulped his own drink. "Nothing like the Utah heat to make you appreciate the simple pleasures of life."
Devlin had maintained a careful distance from her as they'd walked through Cameron. He'd been careful not to brush against her or touch her in any way, but that hadn't lessened her awareness of him. Now as he leaned casually against a scarred desk, drinking from a can of soda, she watched in fascination as the muscles in his throat rippled with each swallow.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly as she stood straight in front of him. She couldn't afford to relax her guard. "Thanks for the tour, Sheriff."
He set the can down, pushed himself away from the desk and leaned toward her. "I thought we were on a first name basis," he said.
She took another drink to give herself a moment to settle herself. "Sorry. Devlin," she muttered. Trying to change the subject, she looked around the spartan office. "You don't have a very fancy workplace here, do you?"
"It works for us. There are only two or three of us on duty at any one time, and we're usually not in the building. Why would we need a fancy office?"
She grinned up at him. "To make the criminals more comfortable?"
He relaxed back against the desk and grinned back. "We want the criminals to suffer. That's why we painted the walls that particular shade of green. Believe me, it doesn't sit well on a stomach that's full of liquor."
"How many arrests do you make in Cameron?"
His smile dimmed. "Back to your reporter mode?"
"Actually, no. I was just curious." She was shocked to realize that it was the truth. She hadn't thought about her story at all. She was asking merely to find out more about Devlin.
"Sy Ames, and then the problem with Damien and Abby Kane's nieces were the most serious situations we've had here in a long time. Damien was protecting Abby and her nieces from mob-hired hit men, and that was a first for Cameron. Mostly we get cowboys who get drunk and disorderly down at May's, or kids who get bored and do something stupid. There isn't a real big criminal element in Cameron."
Her mouth curled into a smile. "No desperadoes or bank robbers?"
"No, ma'am. Sorry to disappoint you." His eyes crinkled into an answering grin and his dimple flashed.
Her smile faded as she set her can of soda on the desk next to her. "Cameron is an attractive town," she said.
"Not everyone would think so," he said softly.
"It may not be the most picturesque, but it has heart," she said, remembering Gladys Jones and the other people who had talked to her. It was the last thing she had been prepared to admit. But it was true, she realized.
Devlin's eyes softened. "You're very perceptive to see that. And that's just why I don't want it to change."
Carly slid off the desk she'd been sitting on. "I don't want to change Cameron, I just want to write a story about it."
"Same difference," Devlin said. He set his can down with a snap on the desk behind him. "Come on. I'll show you the rest of the county."
"Are you sure you have time right now?" She hung back, suddenly reluctant to spend any more time in his company. She was far too aware of him as it was.
He'd already started for the door, but he turned to look back at her. "What's the matter, Slick? Are you beginning to realize what you'd be doing to this town if you wrote an article about it?"
Her chin shot up. "Absolutely not. I simply thought you'd have other things to do than chauffeur me around."
"I have my radio. They can get in touch with me if they need to." His eyes narrowed in a challenge. "You've only seen one part of Cameron. In order to appreciate it, you have to see the ranches that make up the rest of our community."
She never refused a challenge. "Let's go, then."
The hot air seared her lungs when she stepped out the door. Devlin gestured to a white Blazer that stood at the curb, and she opened the door and swung herself inside. In a moment they were passing the last houses in Cameron.
"That's the veterinary office," he said, gesturing at a tidy white building that stood on the edge of town. "Becca Farrell is part owner of the practice."
"Do you think she'd talk to me?"
He shrugged. "You can ask."
They drove over the same winding roads she traveled on her way into Cameron, but now Devlin pointed out the individual ranches, told her about the people who lived there. And he knew the name of every mountain, every canyon they passed. He described the wild beauty that surrounded them with awe and wonder.
By the time they'd reached his ranch, the Red Rock Ranch, she was forced to look at him in a different light. He wasn't a simple small-town sheriff. Devlin McAllister was a complex, complicated man.
It didn't make any difference, she told himself. She wasn't here to pass judgment on him. She was here to get to the truth of her brother's death, twenty years earlier. And no matter how interesting Devlin McAllister was, no matter how she was attracted to him, it didn't change a thing.
The McAllisters had never paid for killing her brother. She was here to make sure they were finally brought to justice.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
Devlin shifted behind the wheel of the Blazer as he shot a glance over at Carly. He wished like hell he knew what she was thinking. She'd become more and more quiet as he'd driven her through the valleys and canyons that made up the area surrounding Cameron. At first she'd asked questions about the owners of the ranches, the kind of questions he'd expect a reporter to ask. But since he'd pointed out his family's ranch, and told her that his sister Shea was now in charge, she hadn't had much to say.
Finally she asked, "Do your parents still live on your ranch?"
"My mother does. My father passed away a while ago."
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"Don't be." He shrugged. "The old man lived his life exactly as he pleased, and he died the way he would have wanted to go. He had a heart attack while he was working. By the time the men found him, he was already dead."
"Did your sister take over because you didn't have time to manage the ranch?"
"Shea?" He grinned at her. "Everybody knew I didn't want any part of the family business. And that was all Shea wanted. She fought with my father for years about running the place. Managing the Red Rock Ranch is what she's dreamed of all her life." He felt his smile dim. "
It was the cause of some bad feelings between my father and me, but we managed to settle our differences. Now Shea and I are both doing what we love."
There was a humming silence in the car, and Carly didn't look at him. Finally she said, "I'm glad for both of you that it worked out. You're obviously fond of your sister."
"I adore her." He glanced over at Carly. "How about you? Does your family live back East?"
"No." She turned away to look out the window and he couldn't see her face. "I don't have any family left. My mother died earlier this year, and my father died when I was a small child."
"No brothers or sisters?" he asked.
"No."
Her voice was clipped, making it clear that the discussion was over. There was more here than she was telling, he realized. He wanted to probe more deeply, to find out her secrets. He wanted to soothe the pain he heard in her voice, pain she tried hard to hide.
Shocked at himself, he tightened his hands on the steering wheel and turned his attention to the road in front of them. There was no way he was getting involved with Carly Fitzpatrick. And he suspected that she wasn't the type of woman who was interested in a brief fling.
"What do you say we head back to Cameron?" he asked. He knew his voice was tight, but he didn't care. He'd been a fool to bring her out here. He wanted time away from Carly, distance from her. And driving around in the truck, having her sitting only inches away from him, wasn't the way to achieve that distance.
"That sounds good." It sounded suspiciously like relief in her voice, and he pressed the accelerator a little harder. It sounded like she wasn't enjoying their enforced intimacy any more than he was.
She hadn't turned to look at him. Still staring out the window, she said, "Is this part of your ranch, too?"
"No." He glanced at the large herd of cattle huddled close to the tiny stream that ran through the pasture, and his mouth tightened. "That's the Hilbert place."
COWBOY WITH A BADGE Page 3