I’m not sure how long I stood there, but Kris was still watching me so it couldn’t have been too long. I managed a smile. “Well, think about the bunkroom,” I said, and turned away.
She might have said something else, but if so the noise of an approaching engine drowned it out. I looked up and saw a dark green Jeep, powdered white as a geisha’s face by caliche dust, rumbling down the road. My heart skipped a little. I couldn’t see the driver yet, but I knew who that Jeep belonged to.
Detective Colin Gallagher. We’d met when he’d come to investigate the first unexpected death at my school, which was hardly the most romantic way to begin a relationship. It also hadn’t helped that I was dating Alan Stratton. At the time, I’d found the attraction between Colin and myself inexplicable and disturbing; now, I found it … what? Inconvenient and disquieting? I had no idea why I was incapable of just enjoying a great guy with headlong abandon, but a big part of me seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. In a way it already had. For whatever reason, apparently I was attracted to men who were determined to uproot my life. Alan still wanted me to move to Dallas. Colin had mentioned in passing that he wouldn’t mind returning to West Texas one day, to the small town in which he’d grown up or to one much like it. And now he wanted to join the Texas Rangers, and what would that mean? After a childhood spent moving not only from city to city, but from country to country, I didn’t want to be uprooted. I loved Austin. I’d attended high school there, graduated from the University of Texas there, and now had a career, a set of friends, a house, and a fat poodle there. It was home. And although I loved to travel, I always wanted to return to Austin. Not Dallas and not some tiny town in West Texas. But there was no denying there was something pretty amazing between Colin and me.
Parking well away from the gate, Colin hopped out of the Jeep and lifted a hand in greeting. He wore jeans, well-worn cowboy boots, reflective sunglasses, and a black T-shirt. He reached into the Jeep and pulled out a black felt cowboy hat and his gun. I hadn’t seen the hat before, but the rest was his normal off-duty wear, the gun as much a part of his clothing as his pants. I’d teased him once about the gun, asking him if he wore it to bed. He’d grinned and told me he’d let me find out for myself. I had to admit, I was sort of looking forward to that. I had never in my life met anyone else who could make my heart race just by standing next to me.
Now, Kris took a step forward and bumped my shoulder. “Who is that?” she asked in a low reverent tone. “Please tell me he’s not a relative.”
I gave her a stern look. “That is Detective Colin Gallagher of the Austin Police Department. And no, he’s not a relative although I don’t know why you’d care, since he’s at least ten years too old for you. Besides, he’s my … he’s here to see me.”
My acerbic tone made no impression, but my words did. Where kindness and generosity had earned me only grudging politeness, having a connection to an admittedly gorgeous man instantly gained me unmistakable … if unflatteringly astonished … admiration.
“I’m so moving to Austin,” she said with a sigh and a faraway look in her eye.
If I’d had a hose, I would have sprayed her with it the same way I did my neighbor’s cat when I found it burying its little presents in my garden. Instead I took her shoulders and turned her toward the house.
“Go ask Aunt Elaine about the bunkroom,” I said, and gave her a little push.
Colin was just coming in the gate when I reached him. He caught me in his arms and lifted me up against his chest, giving me a gentle kiss before he set me back down again. It was unexpected and all too nice. I immediately forgot what I’d been about to say. He just smiled at me from behind his opaque sunglasses.
“Where’s your luggage?” I finally managed, somehow selecting the most inane question from my arsenal.
“Change of plan,” he said, glancing behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know that there were half a dozen pairs of eyes trained on us. “I decided that it might be quieter if I stayed at a motel in town.”
Disappointed, I did not say anything, trying to process what that meant. I could hardly blame him for not wanting to share one of the hunting cabins with a bunch of my male relatives, of course, but if he had to travel back and forth from his hotel, it would mean less time spent together.
“I thought that maybe you’d want to share it with me,” he went on, but held up a hand before I could say anything. “That was, of course, before I checked in and saw the decor. The cardboard sign that says, ‘Do Not Clean Your Birds in the Sink’ is the nicest thing in the room. I’m pretty sure a black light would make that place glow like a jewelry shop in Vegas.”
I laughed. “That’s so gross. You can’t stay there.”
“I’ve been in worse places,” he said, then added, “Not many, but a few. It’ll be fine.”
“No it won’t. Look if you don’t want to stay here, I know there’s a brand-new Motel 6 on the west side of town. It hasn’t been open long enough for anyone to have dressed a deer in the tub. Come on in, and we’ll call to see if they have a room.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe.” He looked at me thoughtfully, the smile fading from his face. Taking my hand, he ran his thumb gently over the skin along my wrist, a tiny movement that had a disproportionately large effect on my heart rate. “If there’s a vacancy, would you join me?”
I tensed, glancing up and inwardly cursing those reflective sunglasses. I couldn’t tell how serious he was. I had not spent the night with him before, and not because I hadn’t wanted to. In fact, sometimes it was all I could think about when he was anywhere within fifty yards of me.
“It depends on a couple of things,” I said, carefully keeping my tone light. “One, if I sit down, will I stick to anything, and two, will I or won’t I be able to clean my birds in the sink?”
He didn’t smile. “Jocelyn…”
“You know I can’t,” I said, pulling my hand out of his.
“You’re still seeing Stratton.” It was not a question. “How’d he feel about me being here this weekend?”
“He didn’t like it,” I answered shortly.
“Good.”
We stared at each other. Then I heard the sound of footsteps on gravel, and turned to see my aunt approaching, a look of welcome on her face. This conversation would have to wait until later.
* * *
At the fairgrounds that evening, the halfhearted warmth of the November day cooled from pleasant to frosty as the sun dipped behind the gently rolling hills. The breeze, though soft, stirred through the tree branches, lifted brown leaves from their tenuous grips, and swirled them into rustling piles in the corners. Wisps of chill air slipped through denim and probed beneath shirt collars like wicked little fingers looking for inconvenient places to pinch. Around the rodeo stands, banks of blinding halide stadium lights transformed dusk into noon and threw every clod of dirt in the arena into sharp relief. Beyond that, the fairgrounds twinkled like a vast horizontal Christmas tree, the thousands of multicolored twinkle lights on the vendor stalls and in the trees warring with the sputtering white of fluorescent bulbs pouring from the food booths. The dull bass thump of music played too loudly, and the noise and laughter of several hundred excited attendees filled the crisp air. The anticipation and good humor of the crowd was palpable.
Colin, Kyla, and I walked past the temporary animal pens and rodeo stands to the concession booths. After a few paces, Colin tentatively reached for my hand, a gesture that brought an odd lump to my throat along with the usual small jolt of pleasure. We hadn’t had a chance to speak privately since his arrival, but I wasn’t sure if it mattered. How much longer would we have moments like this if he got his new job? And did I even want to pursue it? After all, I thought I’d found love less than six months ago with another great guy, and that hadn’t worked out very well. My so-called romance with Alan Stratton had faltered after just a few months, leaving me disillusioned and unhappy. Distance had seemed like the problem, but Alan was now making a big
-time effort to make things work, and if I were honest, Colin was the real issue with my relationship with Alan. Part of me wanted to say to hell with the future and just savor the present with this amazing man. My inner voice simply asked whether I was in the mood to have my heart chewed up and spit out like a wad of chaw in the jaws of a minor league infielder. I hated that voice.
Colin gave me a curious glance, and I hurriedly squeezed back, then bumped his shoulder with mine. He smiled, reassured, and I shook the voices away.
“I want a sausage on a stick,” I announced, catching sight of a garish sign with a somewhat rude depiction of the food item in question.
Kyla wrinkled her nose. “We just ate,” she protested.
“You don’t have to eat one. You can get a fried Twinkie instead,” I added, thinking that if she did, maybe I could have a bite.
“Yes, when hell freezes over.” She was scanning the crowd as we spoke, then perked up. “Look, I see that T.J. guy. You two have fun.” Then she was gone.
I glanced after her as she vanished into the crowd, but saw no sign of T.J. She must have her special hot-guy radar turned on. I did not think the situation boded well for Sherman, her current or should I say most recent interest. I made a mental note to quiz her about that later.
Colin blinked. “Not very subtle, but nice of her to give us some time to ourselves,” he said.
I gave him a pitying glance. “She’s not giving us time to ourselves. She and I met a racehorse owner at the track today. She’s giving him time to herself.”
“Racehorse owner, huh?” He craned his neck, trying to see the man in question.
“And rancher. I think the guy might be loaded.” I tugged at his hand and maneuvered us into the short line in front of the food stand. The aroma of greasy sausage and vanilla funnel cakes wafted over us. I thought heaven might very possibly smell like that.
“Is that what Kyla’s looking for?” Colin sounded both surprised and disapproving.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way.” I thought about it for a minute, trying to put it into words. “He’s interesting and good-looking. Being well off is just a bonus. She told me a long time ago that just once she’d like to date someone that she wouldn’t have to pay alimony to when they got divorced.”
“Damn. And I thought cops were cynical.”
I laughed at that. “The other thing he has going for him is the irresistible lure of being verboten.”
“What do you mean?”
I explained about the lawsuit and my uncle’s ultimatum. He digested that for a moment, then asked unexpectedly, “Is your uncle always like that?”
I paused, then answered, “More or less, I guess. He used to be a little more easygoing, or at least it seemed that way. Maybe that was just because we were kids, and we didn’t see everything. But I do know that when he took over the ranch, he seemed to get a lot more serious and a lot less fun. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It’s probably nothing. But I’ve seen guys with that same look in their eye. They get burned out, overly stressed. And that’s when accidents happen.”
I glanced up at him, surprised by his tone. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, and I couldn’t read his expression. I did, however, notice the firm set of his lips, the clean line of his jaw, and the tiny pulse that beat in the hollow of his throat. For a moment, my attention wavered from the topic at hand.
His lips twitched into a smile, and he put his arm around my shoulders. I took the opportunity to slip my arm around his waist, feeling his warmth even through the layers of denim that separated us. He felt too damn good.
With an effort, I focused on his words. “What are you saying? You think Kel is headed for a breakdown?”
“I don’t know him well enough to say, and I only saw him for a few minutes this afternoon. But from all you told me about the irritability, the shouting, the demands … I don’t know. That doesn’t seem like good sign. If I worked with him, I’d be telling him to take a vacation.”
“He was pretty upset that the police wouldn’t start looking for Ruby June. I have to say, it does worry me that she isn’t back yet,” I said. “There’s just not that many places to go here, and Kel has called them all.”
“She’s an adult, there’s no indication of trouble, and she hasn’t even been gone a full day. There’s not much the police can do. Besides, there’s nothing that says she has to be in Sand Creek. She might have gone into Llano or even Austin.”
“Except she doesn’t have a car. How would she get there?”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing she has a few friends in town who’d either let her stay or who’d loan her a car. It wouldn’t be that hard. She’ll show up in a day or two when she’s ready.”
The line moved forward, and we finally reached the booth.
“You want a fried Twinkie, right?” I asked him hopefully.
He pulled out his wallet. “No, I don’t. But I will buy you one if you promise not to throw up in my car. Sausage on a stick and a fried Twinkie,” he told the kid behind the counter, who obligingly passed him the items wrapped in greasy white paper.
“This is why I like you so much,” I said as Colin paid. “Hold my sausage for a minute, okay?”
The Twinkie was everything I could have hoped for. My first bite sent a puff of powdered sugar into the air, and I closed my eyes in ecstasy.
Colin started laughing, and brushed sugar from my nose. “You look so happy.”
“It’s even better than I thought it would be. Why are all the good things so bad for you?” I asked. I thought about stuffing the rest of it in my mouth, but instead reluctantly offered it to him.
He shook his head. “Um, no thanks. I would hate to deprive you.”
“You can have a bite of the sausage,” I offered magnanimously.
“Gee, thanks.”
We strolled through the motley assortment of booths, which were selling an odd mix of food, beer, and local crafts. In one, an elderly couple displayed an assortment of crocheted baby blankets and hand-carved wooden toys. In another, a wizened little man, fingers stained brown by years of leatherwork, proudly held up a hand-tooled belt to a portly customer. Even at a distance I could tell the belt in question would never go around that ample waist, but maybe it would end up under the Christmas tree. I tossed the greasy paper from my snacks into a rusting oil drum that served as a trash can and wiped the sugar from my fingers, then noticed Colin scanning the crowd with a wistful expression.
“What’s up?” I asked. “You look almost … I don’t know.” I looked at him again. “Sad.”
He turned to me and gave a patently fake smile. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, really. I was just thinking how happy and peaceful everything looks. This reminds me so much of my hometown, the way it was when I was a kid. You’d never know anything was wrong or ever would be wrong.”
“And is something wrong?”
“When you’re a cop, there’s always something wrong. There’s rumors one of the Mexican drug cartels is working this area. Maybe drugs, almost certainly money laundering.”
I looked around incredulously. “You’re kidding me, right? Here in Sand Creek? This town is practically Mayberry. It’s so small you’d miss it if you blinked.”
“It’s not that small. It does have both a Walmart and a Dairy Queen after all,” he added with a grin, then seeing my expression went on more seriously: “More importantly, it has a racetrack and a sheriff’s department stretched too thin. There’s some serious money in this county.”
I looked at the denim-clad crowd milling past us. “It’s well hidden then.”
He laughed. “Look, never mind. Forget I said anything. We’re here to have a good time.”
He extended his hand like a peace offering, and I took it. I wasn’t sure he was wrong about Sand Creek, but I still wished he hadn’t said anything. When you spend long summer weeks in a place when you’re a ki
d, it takes on magical properties, and I liked my illusions untarnished.
We walked around to the rodeo stands, where a group of cowboys had just backed a stock trailer full of sheep to the gates. Half a dozen children wearing crash helmets and ranging in age from about five to seven stood in a straggling line to one side of the gate as the announcer began his patter.
“What are they doing?” I asked, puzzled.
“Mutton bustin’,” said Colin with a grin. “They put a kid on a sheep and let it run until the kid falls off.”
“Seriously? They put those little kids on sheep? You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, not kidding. And if you haven’t seen it before, you have to watch. It’s pretty funny.”
“Do I sense more nostalgia?” I looked from the eager kids to the less-than-eager sheep, then back to Colin. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re a former mutton buster?” I added with sudden delight.
He gave me a sideways glance. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how long I’d have to get teased about it.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, thinking I would have to pursue this hitherto unknown aspect of his past. I knew he’d been raised in a small town in West Texas, but I’d never envisioned just what that meant. I tried to picture this six-foot-tall broad-shouldered man as a grubby sheep-riding boy and failed completely.
We climbed into the stands and took our seats on hard metal bleachers. One of the rodeo clowns wearing saggy overalls and high-top sneakers hopped on top of a barrel and began imitating the announcer’s gestures, while a cowboy slipped a lasso around one woolly neck, and began pulling a fat sheep to the center of the ring. The sheep balked, black legs stiff and resisting, reminding me very much of my earlier goat encounter. The cowboy pulled, the sheep dug in harder. Eventually, the clown hopped down and began pushing on her rear end, pretending that she was both immovable and flatulent to the delight of the crowd.
Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) Page 5