Anne Marie Duquette

by She Caught the Sheriff

  “It’s sad to think of it,” Caro said after a while. “The Earps, along with Doc Holiday, were responsible for breaking the rule of organized crime in Cochise County. Yet the town didn’t appreciate the high price those men paid for that justice.”

  Wyatt pushed his Stetson back on his head. “You’re wrong, Caro. The miners appreciated it, and so did some of the cattle ranchers. Not all of them were rustlers. My great-grandfather, who came to Arizona a few years later, raised cattle and sold them for honest prices. The Cowboys were long gone then, but the mines were successful from 1879 to the mid-thirties. So Tombstone was still a thriving town, with a market for beef.”

  “You’re saying that thanks to the Earps, Tombstone offered cattlemen a decent living?”

  “Pretty much. Lem’s ranch in Texas had been overgrazed and wasn’t doing well. When he got to Arizona, he originally tried mining. He laid claim to The Silver Dollar Mine to finance new Texas land. He didn’t make enough for that, but when the mine tapped out, he was able to buy the surrounding land, outside Tombstone proper.”

  “I imagine it was cheap enough,” Caro said.

  “It was if you’re talking money, not backbreaking labor. So Lem took his wife, his son and his herd of cattle to settle The Silver Dollar Ranch, which he named after the mine.”

  “They must have been determined people.”

  “They sure were. Without the Cowboys in power, Lem Bodine did quite well selling beef for the first few years.”

  “I imagine he did—but just for a few years?”

  “The ranch prospered, but Lem died before his time. He might have avoided the Cowboys’ reign of terror, but family history has it that Lem was caught in a cattle stampede. Nobody knew exactly what happened. And the remains were, well…”

  Caro swiveled in her saddle. “What?”

  “By the time a couple hundred head of cattle run over you, there’s not much left to bury.”

  “Oh.” Caro was silent. What a horrible way to die.

  Wyatt sent his sharp gaze her way. “Just ‘oh’? No witty comeback?”

  Caro felt a dart of pain at his negative impression of her, and for once her answer was serious.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff. I may joke about my job. I certainly joke about death. But I never, ever laugh at pain and suffering.”

  After a few moments, during which neither spoke, she was surprised when he said, “That remark I made. I was wrong, way out of line. And I was wrong about something else. I should’ve told you the keys belonged to Morgan.” He stopped his horse and held out his hand by way of apology.

  The gesture looked and felt so sincere to Caro that she moved close to him, their thighs almost touching, to take his hand.

  Gently their palms met. Then his grip tightened and he pulled, safely bringing her closer to his leaning body. His lips brushed her cheek. “I was wrong about you, too.”

  Before her uncharacteristically slow mind could come up with an appropriate response, his lips were on hers. This time there was a blatant male hunger she both recognized and responded to with a hunger of her own.

  Their horses shifted impatiently. Caro didn’t notice. The mine waited for them. She didn’t remember. She knew their behavior was totally unprofessional—and she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except what she was feeling now, what he was feeling: the elemental pleasure of male and female. Nothing mattered except their excitement, their desire.

  That desire was so strong, so tempting, Caro knew she had to break its thrall now or end up making love on the desert floor. Frantically, she touched her heels to the mare’s flanks. The Arabian, always ready to run and impatient at standing motionless for so long, responded instantly to Caro’s touch. With natural grace enhanced by centuries of careful breeding, Cactus Blossom shifted effortlessly into the beautiful canter generations of Arabian owners had treasured.

  The towering saguaros and creosote bushes were a dark green blur, while the thinner ocotillo and mesquite trees streaked Caro’s peripheral vision with lighter green. Caro felt the mare’s sureness, her steadiness, her familiarity with the trail in the smoothness of the ride and the excited pricking of the animal’s ears.

  She also heard Wyatt coming up behind her. On sudden impulse, she gave the mare free rein. Cactus Blossom burst into a gallop so eagerly that Caro laughed and crouched low, rider and mount caught up in the primitive enjoyment of flight.

  Wyatt’s stallion, too, moved into a gallop. The mare laid her ears flat against her finely chiseled head and responded with an extra burst of speed. Powerful muscles bunched and exploded in raw power.

  Caro gasped with sheer exhilaration as the wind tore at her breath and hair, tore at the mare’s silver mane and tail. She felt a strange identification with her horse as male pursued female in an ancient race. The female, unwilling to be caught by any male who wasn’t fitter, stronger, more determined than she, stretched out even further.

  Her hooves landed softly in the shallow sand, then dug hard against the rocky ground for power and traction. The stallion did the same, but his rider was much heavier than the mare’s, and the mare wasn’t in season. This time, the man and stallion slowed first. The females remained free.

  It was the mare who first recognized that the race was over. Triumphant, she and Caro slowed down, allowing their pursuers to catch up. Caro patted the mare’s neck and felt a moment’s sadness, despite the magic of the desert morning, the beauty of the horse, the vigor of the race. Precious times like these were so rare in her life, and they seemed to end so quickly.

  “Congratulations on your win. You’re some horsewoman, Caro. I didn’t stand a chance.”

  “I think the mare herself had a lot to do with it,” she said graciously. “Not to mention her owner.”

  “I’m forgiven, then?” he asked. There was a simplicity in his words that erased some of the tension that always seemed to be present between them.

  Caro found herself responding in the same tone. “For the cheap shot, yes.”

  “And the kiss?”

  Caro allowed herself to unbend. “If I hadn’t wanted you to kiss me, I would’ve shoved you off your horse.”

  “I believe you would’ve.”

  Then he grinned. Caro was immediately suspicious of that cocky, purely male grin.

  “What?”

  “It would’ve still been worth it.”

  All of a sudden she found herself feeling a little shy. “Thanks. And I’m very sorry about your great-grandfather,” she added. “I wish his life hadn’t come to such an awful end.”

  “Me, too. No one deserves to die like that.”

  For a moment, just a brief, flashing moment, Caro saw his deep concern and caring for others. There was more to this man than hot kisses and a handsome face. But can I have faith in him where his brother’s concerned? Even if he says he was wrong about the keys… She continued to ponder that question as the ride progressed to the end of the trail and the mine.

  If Caro hadn’t been watching, if Wyatt wasn’t there guiding the way, she would have missed the entrance to the mine. The sun had bleached the wooden planks covering the entrance to the same buff color as the land. The planks were further camouflaged by desert scrub.

  Not until Wyatt reined his horse to a halt and announced, “Here it is,” did Caro’s eyes register the faint outlines of an entrance.

  “If it was a snake, it would’ve jumped up and bit me,” she said ruefully.

  “Don’t even say that. Snakes love cool areas like this mine, and so do the rodents they feed on. Watch your step,” Wyatt warned. He reached for his canteen, but made no move to dismount.

  “I will if you will,” Caro replied. She swung one leg over the rump of the mare. Another fluid motion and she was on the ground, reins in one hand. She lifted her canteen from the saddle horn with the other, looped its strap around her shoulder, then removed a small belt-pack from a saddlebag and clipped it on, all under Wyatt’s watchful eyes.

  Caro gestured
toward a treed rocky outcropping. “The horses will have shade there. Let’s picket them and go explore the mine.”

  She loosened Cactus Blossom’s saddle girth just a little for the horse’s comfort, a habit her old riding instructor had taught her, then glanced at Wyatt. To her surprise, he hadn’t yet dismounted.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said. “Maybe we should just look around out here. Even if it’s safe in there— which it isn’t—we’re going to have to pry off the boards in this heat.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Caro said slowly. She left her horse tied to a sturdy branch, walked back to the mine and thrust aside a mass of old brush. “Look!” It parted easily at her touch, revealing a cleared area that led straight into a gaping hole.

  Wyatt dismounted, his lips pressed together in the thin line Caro had seen before. It was an expression that revealed anger. Controlled anger. But this wasn’t the time to analyze the sheriff’s emotions. She had work to do. By the time he’d tethered the stallion and joined her, Caro had uncovered the entrance leading straight into the dark interior of the mine.

  “I thought you told me this mine was boarded up,” she said.

  “It was. But I haven’t been here in months—haven’t taken a good look in years.” Wyatt kicked at the dried, splintered planks of wood beneath their feet. “I’ll have to get some fresh lumber and send some men out.”

  “I’d save my money if I were you.” Caro carefully used a stick to probe at the shaded areas for scorpions and snakes, then squatted to retrieve something in the dust.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The elements can decay wood, but only a crowbar does this.” She held up a bent nail. “And look at these.” She kicked over two, three, four planks of wood. All of them had bent nails.

  Wyatt’s face was set in a grim expression. She wondered if he was disturbed because he hadn’t noticed the nails—or because she had?

  “You’re very good at this.” He paused. “It worries me.”

  Caro boldly met his gaze. “Why?”

  “Because your life might be in danger.”

  She didn’t hesitate a beat. Collecting a few more of the nails scattered on the ground, she sealed them in the evidence bags she always carried in her jeans.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been at risk. But I have a system, you know. I check in with someone several times a day. I let that person know where I’m going, who I’m with and what people I suspect.”

  It was the truth. She had phoned Marta with her itinerary early in the morning and arranged to meet her later on.

  “So if anyone’s planning on shoving me down a mine shaft, they won’t get away with it.” She finished with the bags. “Let’s go.”

  He frowned. “After everything I’ve said about how dangerous this place is, you still want to go in?”

  “Only if you know your way around,” Caro qualified.

  His expression became inscrutable. “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll just go in without you.”

  He crossed his arms. “You don’t have a very good poker face, ma’am. I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Try me.” Caro reached into her belt-pack, withdrew a small flashlight, manual compass and a computerized map recorder-plus-navigator. She flipped a switch, activating the tiny monitor. A glowing grid appeared on the screen with a loud beep.

  Wyatt stared at the electronic instrument. “Another of your expensive toys?”

  “Yep, mine and Silicon Valley’s.”

  “You seem to keep those people in business.” He gave the instrument in her hand a curious glance. “What is it?”

  “A navigational aid. A computerized compass, actually. Nothing much.”

  “That’s all? What’s wrong with the good, old-fashioned kind?”

  “Hey, this has built-in lights. Can’t see the old-fashioned ones in a dark cave.”

  “Far be it from me to impede progress,” was Wyatt’s dry response.

  You don’t know the half of it, Caro thought. Her unit was more than just a compass. In fact, the instrument held a compact radar that could automatically record a fair backup map if she wasn’t able to take the more accurate manual readings herself. But Caro, ever cautious, didn’t feel the urge to tell Wyatt that.

  “Just out of curiosity, how much would something like this high-tech compass cost?”

  She told him. Wyatt was astounded.

  “I can’t believe anyone would pay that much when you can get a perfectly good compass for a few dollars!”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised, Sheriff,” Caro said smugly. “I bought stock in this company when they were first getting started.”

  Wyatt’s eyebrows rose in amazement. “You played the stocks?”

  “Play, present tense. I love high-tech gadgets. I’m even happy to share my stock proceeds with my parents and sister.”

  “Generous of you.”

  “Not really. They’re family. There’s no my money or your money.”

  “Like the way we share ranch ownership?”

  “Exactly. What, you think you’re the only ones who know anything about family loyalty?” She held out the mapping aid. “Here. Want to try it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t offer.” Caro shrugged, then expertly took her bearings with both the manual compass and the computerized navigator and entered the figures in her notebook. She lifted her chin, then headed for the entrance to the mine. “Last chance. Coming?”

  “Only if I lead.”

  Caro gestured for him to go first with a satisfied sweep of her free hand. “Well, this time, anyway. After you, Sheriff.”

  They stepped inside.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Still Friday morning

  THE AIR WAS STIFLING, the mine dark and dusty. Wyatt paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, and Caro did the same.

  “Lovely place. I’m surprised it isn’t in the tour books,” she drawled as Wyatt brushed at the cobwebs that had fallen onto his shoulder. The resident spider dropped to the ground and scurried away. She took off her baseball cap and stuffed it in her waistband.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said.

  “I’m not afraid of a few bugs.” She lifted the thick mass of hair from her neck, welcoming the air on her damp skin.

  Wyatt gave her a concerned glance. “I suggest you tie your hair up, because you’ve got more than spiders to worry about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  Caro inhaled. Immediately she wrinkled her nose at the fetid, moldy odor.

  “Phew! What is that smell?” Caro couldn’t place it. The stench wasn’t that of death or decay—unfortunately her job had taught her to recognize those—but it was almost as bad.

  “Guano.”

  “Guano?” she echoed.

  “As in bat dung. And bats. The deeper we go, the more there’ll be. Which means even less chance of finding this mystery gold. And don’t forget the snakes, scorpions and spiders. Sure you don’t want to reconsider this plan of yours?”

  “Sorry, Sheriff, but I don’t mind creepy crawlies. Besides, I like bats.”

  She received a sharp glance at her answer.

  “I do,” she insisted. “They keep the insect population down, and the fruit eaters aid pollination. Plus, their radar is a marvel of engineering. Even the government hasn’t been able to build anything that operates at the speed and efficiency of bat radar. They’re fascinating creatures.”

  Caro reached for her hat and clapped it back on her head. “Although I do prefer to keep my hair free of guano.”

  Wyatt’s face registered grudging admiration. “Well, I’ll say one thing for you. You’re not squeamish.”

  “It’s not nature’s creatures I worry about.”

  Wyatt didn’t respond other than with a crisp, “Follow me.”

  Caro followed. The mine entrance was fairly level for the first th
irty yards, then it gradually narrowed. The walls were sheer rock, but rock that had been attacked and weakened by the depredations of men and of time itself.

  “I thought mines were supposed to be shored up with wood or something.” Caro’s voice had dropped to a soft whisper.

  “There isn’t much wood around. And with a whole mountain of rock on top of us, I doubt a few boards are going to make much difference.”

  “Oh.”

  He stopped. “You’re not scared, are you? Claustrophobic?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because if you are, you’d better back out right now. My brothers and I used to play in here as kids. Believe me, this is no easy stroll.”

  “I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going.”

  By now the sunlight at the entrance was so far behind them it could no longer penetrate the darkness. Wyatt and Caro snapped on their flashlights at the same time. Any rodents that hadn’t scrambled away at the sound of their footsteps did so then.

  The temperature started to drop as they walked deeper into the mine. “Watch your footing,” he warned. “It gets rough for the next fifty yards or so, but things will smooth out in the main chamber. Stick close and take it slow.”

  “I will.”

  Wyatt was a good guide. They stopped occasionally, and he waited without complaint as Caro took measurements and punched coordinates into her navigator. So far there was only one direction to travel, but Caro knew that could change. Many underground mines, especially older ones, fingered out into different tunnels as they followed the haphazard trails of silver ore.

  The walls narrowed, growing so tight that Caro’s shoulders almost grazed the rock on either side. She saw Wyatt take off his hat and turn his broad shoulders sideways. After a few more paces she had to do the same.

  Just as she didn’t think the passage could get any narrower without blocking their way, it gaped wide. Wyatt’s beam of light diffused in the darkness. It was Caro’s stronger torch that actually illuminated the rock on the far side of the wall.

  “Only a few more steps.” Wyatt led her a bit farther, then stopped. She did, too, casting her light around the huge chamber. The smell of guano was overwhelming.