Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  “Is that your treatment for nervousness, Dr. Moore?”

  “No reason for you to be nervous about this Miguel.” It was too damn tempting to kiss her again. He slugged his hands into his pockets where they had no choice about behaving. “If he’s living on this side of the border, I’d guess the whole conversation is likely to be in Spanish. Which means you get to sit on the sidelines. I’ll handle him.”

  The promise was easier made than delivered, he discovered. It took a few more minutes before they located Miguel’s place of business. No different than a dozen other jewelry stalls, the small space was cluttered stem to stern with racks of earrings and doodads and shiny bangles. The young man effusively greeted Kansas in Spanish, clearly anticipating a customer, but when Pax stepped in front of Kansas, Miguel turned tight-lipped.

  Pax studied him carefully before even trying to initiate some questions. The young man was around five foot five, with a scar zigzagging down the side of his chin; he looked thin and malnourished and tired. Beyond the masculine gleam in his eyes when he laid eyes on Kansas, he didn’t look like trouble, more like a kid who’d seen more of the harsh side of life than he needed to.

  His whole face tightened when Pax mentioned Case. He didn’t know Case, he told Pax in Spanish. Never heard the name. Didn’t know anything about a religious group who followed the old ways. Had never been near the Coronado area—it would have been illegal for him to cross the border—and he wasn’t looking for trouble with the law.

  The boy didn’t lie worth beans, and Pax saw the fear and wariness spring into his eyes. Still, he’d worked with people in rescue situations dozens of times. He knew how to deal with panic. A calm, quiet response went a long way toward building reassurance and trust, but this boy wasn’t budging for rock.

  Kansas edged to his side, and gestured to the boy toward a trayful of earrings. There had to be a hundred pair of earrings heaped and tangled on the tray. When she had Miguel’s attention, she opened the catch on her purse.

  “You buy some?” Miguel asked her.

  “I’ll buy the whole tray…if you’ll tell me about my brother.” Before Pax could stop her, Kansas had lifted out her change purse and openly revealed the slip full of bills.

  The boy’s understanding of English was limited, but he understood money just fine. He did not immediately comprehend that she was serious about buying the entire trayful—primarily because Pax refused to translate the outlandish offer.

  “Red, he’s going to peg you for a sucker.”

  “Then he’ll have me pegged right. I am a sucker.” She splayed the bills in her wallet again so Miguel could clearly see them. “Just tell him it’s all his, if the information he gives me about my brother is worth it.”

  “But that’s just the point—you won’t know. He could lie or make something up or tell you anything he thought you wanted to hear to get that money.”

  “Pax, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week, for pete’s sake. So I’m out some stupid money. So what? And it just might start him talking.”

  It started him talking, all right. With his eyes on those bills, the boy gushed like an open faucet for the next fifteen minutes. Once he was done—and money changed palms—he pumped Kansas’s hand exuberantly and tossed one last comment to Pax. “La mujer y las tortillas, calientes han de ser.”

  “What was that last thing he said to you?” Kansas asked as they headed back down the street.

  “Another one of the local proverbs. ‘Women and tortillas should be hot.’ If you need a further translation from that—he was remarking on my taste in women. He thought you were one irresistibly hot tamale.”

  “Tamale, huh?” She chuckled. “I thought you looked a little ticked off.”

  Ticked off didn’t quite measure Pax’s mood. As they ambled back toward the border, Kansas was a hundred pair of earrings—and a tray—richer. And Pax had a fresh bucketful of information about the place known as Valle de Oro where this group regularly camped in the Coronado—but no possible way of knowing how much of Miguel’s story was true.

  “Just so we get this straight for now and for all times—I’m never taking you to Vegas,” he told her.

  “Now, Pax. There’s a time and a place to bluff, but I didn’t think this was it. We were getting nowhere. I could see he didn’t want to talk. Even if he embellished or exaggerated anything he said—even if he invented stuff—at least it gave us something to work with. He knew Case. I could see it in his face the instant you mentioned my brother’s name.”

  “I agree about that. He knew your brother.”

  “So what did he say? Are you going to keep me in suspense? I picked up some words—like Coronado and Sierra Vista and Valle de Oro—but that’s about all I could understand.” When Pax didn’t immediately answer, Kansas pounced again. “Tell me! Everything! He was talking to beat the band for all that time—”

  “Yeah, I know. And I’ll tell you what he said word for word,” Pax said slowly, “if you promise to take it with a long, slow grain of salt. No making decisions. No rushing into action. No doing anything half-cocked based on what a half-grown boy probably made up, just to get your money.”

  “Pax, Pax, Pax.” Kansas sprang up on tiptoe and smacked him, right on the lips. The devil of a kiss was a total contradiction to the sincerity in her eyes. “As if I were the type to do anything impulsive. Trust me. All I’m going to do is listen.”

  Eight

  They were home from Nogales—Pax had just driven off and Kansas had just tossed her purse on the counter—when the telephone rang.

  She grabbed the portable phone from the kitchen, and crooked the receiver between her ear and shoulder. She should have expected the call from her mom. They hadn’t talked since the day before yesterday.

  “No, no, I was just out for a couple of hours, Mom. With Dr. Moore. I told you about him. No, sweetie, you know I’d have called if I had any real news. And you promised to let me do the worrying, remember? That’s why I’m here…”

  Her voice was deliberately calm and soothing, but her hands were working faster than a card shark, yanking open drawers all through the kitchen. She wanted maps. Not regular maps—she already had dozens of those. But when Pax talked to Miguel, she’d heard the name ‘Valle de Oro’ crop up yet again. If her brother was anywhere, it was with those kids. And if Case had found his way to that place in the Coronado, surely he had maps or directions or some kind of information lying around somewhere.

  “No, Mom, I haven’t laid eyes on him yet, but I believe I know where he is now…” Leaving the drawers gaping open, she jogged in the living room and started pilfering through the desk and bookshelves.

  “Now, sweetie, I know you’re upset and concerned. So am I. And I’m not going to lie and tell you everything’s hunky dory. But when I first got here, I was really scared that he’d disappeared because he was lying in a ditch somewhere. It’s not like that. I think he’s fine. I have no reason to believe he’s physically injured, nothing like that…I bought you some earrings tonight, in fact—now would I be goofing off shopping if I thought something bad had happened to Case?”

  In a crisis, her mom could handle anything and probably reorganize a government or two in her spare time. But she was a hand-wringing worrier, Kansas knew. If and when Case needed the family’s help, she’d tell the truth straight and knew her mom would come through like a trooper. Until then, she figured it was a daughter’s job to reassure rather than scare. Protecting her mom was such a familiar habit that it required no concentration—a good thing, because her mind was spinning in a thousand other directions right now.

  “Mom, I don’t know. I believe he’s gotten involved with a group of kids. Other young people his age. And I’m almost positive that’s where he is—camping out with this group—but I’ll be able to tell you for sure in a couple of days…”

  Deserting the mess in the living room, she sprinted down the hall. What the Sam Hill did she need for a hike in the mountains, anyway? In Case’
s bedroom, she opened and slammed drawers, tossing T-shirts and shorts onto the bed, then flew to the closet. On the floor in the back, she found a terrific pair of hiking boots. Serious, practical hiking boots—but size twelve. About as helpful as a mink coat in the desert.

  The doorbell rang just as she was scooching back out of the closet. She glanced at the bedside clock—11:00 p.m.? Pax had only left a few minutes before, and no one in town knew her well enough to call, not this late. Unless—she lurched quickly to her feet and hustled toward the front door—it was someone or something about her brother.

  “Mom, I have to go. Someone’s here. I don’t know who it is—I just heard the doorbell…let me call you back tomorrow, okay? Now, Mom, you’ve got to stop this…you’re going to worry yourself sick, imagining all these dire things—real people don’t have amnesia, come on now…I promise, the instant I know anything for sure about Case, I’ll call—”

  Still holding tight to the phone, she squinted through the peephole in the front door, and raised her eyebrows when she identified Pax. Her pulse instantly zoomed to a polka. Heaven knew why he’d come back, but she quickly yanked open the door.

  When he stepped in, she motioned to the phone. He nodded in understanding. “Mom, I’ll call you tomorrow, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, but I really have to go now. I love you, too. And give Mike a big kiss. Yeah, I’m taking care of myself. Yeah, I’m eating—Mom! Good night!”

  With a phew of a sigh, she punched the Off button and pivoted around—but Pax was no longer in sight.

  She was vaguely aware that she’d torn through the house so fast in the last few minutes that the place must look like a disaster area. Apparently Pax noticed, because he was standing in the living room with his palms jammed into his back pockets, perusing the upended desk drawers and debris with a scowl.

  “What happened? Did you forget something?”

  “Yeah.” He turned around and aimed that scowl at her. “I almost forgot that I couldn’t trust you.”

  She arched a brow. “I’ve got news for you, buster. You can trust me with your life.”

  Pax rolled his eyes. “That’s not the kind of trust that was in question, Red. I didn’t get five miles down the road before I realized you were just too calm and reasonable after that confrontation with Miguel. I had a feeling you were selling me a wooden nickle—and a real fear you’d do something fast and impulsive.” He motioned to the clutter scattered all over the room.

  “If you’re implying I’m freaked out…you’re damn right I am.”

  “So how come you weren’t honest with me?”

  “Because I didn’t figure you’d agree. Or that you’d like what I was going to do. I don’t need to talk to any more people, Pax. I’ve heard more than enough to be scared witless about my brother. I think there’s a time to be rational, and a time when getting hysterical is perfectly appropriate. I’m going up in those mountains to find him. Don’t waste your breath arguing with me.”

  He didn’t waste his breath arguing. He disappeared on her, and showed up a few moments later with a jelly glass splashing full of whiskey. “Your brother,” he said, “didn’t put a lot of money into the brand. It’ll probably give you a headache after two sips. Drink it anyway, Red. De decir y hacer hay mucho que ver.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that unfortunately, there’s much to do between saying and doing. No matter what harebrained thing you plan to do, it’s still going to take some time and effort to put together. You can be as hysterical as you want, shorty—but you might as well sip that whiskey while you’re talking it out.”

  Possibly Pax had noticed that she had slightly exaggerated her state of mind. She wasn’t the least bit hysterical. She wished she were, though. She wished she were in a mood to vent a full-fledged, loud, unreasonable, and immature tantrum.

  Instead she sank onto the couch and took a throat-tearing sip of the acrid whiskey. It helped. She couldn’t remember being this scared. Pax had been wonderful with Miguel; she doubted the boy even realized he was being grilled, and once the subject veered toward religion, the young man had seemed to need to express his feelings and beliefs.

  By the time Pax translated the conversation on the drive home, Kansas knew he’d colored it—the same way she colored the truth for her mother to protect her. But she’d spent hours with Case’s books and papers over the past week. Clues clicked in place, and connected with things she already knew.

  Religion wasn’t the problem. Drugs combined with religion was the problem. The Aztecs had a word for datura—ololiuhqui. The Spanish used their own word for the plant—toloache. The Zunis, Pueblo, and Navajo people had a history of using the plant in long ago eras. Not now. Now anyone with a brain realized that it was a dangerous hallucinogen with narcotic properties.

  “Now, don’t go quiet on me,” Pax said gently. “Talk. Spill out what’s on your mind.”

  She looked at him, but she simply couldn’t talk. The lump in her throat was as thick as a wall. The things he’d relayed from Miguel kept springing into her mind. In the old days, a bit of the narcotic was placed in a person’s food or water to induce visions. The purpose wasn’t getting high. It was getting pure. If the person saw devils, it was because he needed to get rid of the bad spirits inside him. Datura was supposed to cleanse and purify the soul.

  Miguel had said that initiates were given the drug as a “rite of passage.” It was a test, to see how they coped. Outsiders didn’t understand. It wasn’t about doing something illegal or playing with party drugs. It wasn’t about rebellion. It was about wanting and needing to dig deep inside yourself for the “real truth.”

  The real truth? Oh, God. When Kansas had found a medical text and looked up jimsonweed, the more common name for datura, it was listed as poisonous. It had some potent alkaloid called atropine. A misdose could be fatal. The hallucinogenic and narcotic properties of the damn thing were just as terrifying.

  And the thought that her brother could be involved in something like that was enough to make Kansas violently ill. Case too easily trusted, she knew well. No different than Miguel, he could actually believe he was taking some harmless “natural herb” if that’s what his friends told him.

  “Talk about a way to scare a man,” Pax murmured. “When you get quiet, Red, I know we’re in big trouble.”

  “I just…I just can’t wait, Pax. Not another day. Not another minute. Both that psychic and Miguel mentioned this same ‘Valle de Oro.’ I’m not denying what you said—trying to explore the whole Coronado just to find this sacred place would be crazy. But I don’t care. It’s not only the best lead we have, but it also adds up with everything else. There has to be a way to find the place. I’m going after my brother.”

  “Nope, you’re not.”

  “This isn’t up to you, love.” She didn’t mean the endearment to slip out. She guessed that Pax didn’t want to hear it, and this was just no time to deal with either the complications—or the wonder—of falling in love with him. “This isn’t up to you,” she repeated quietly. “It’s up to me. He’s my brother.”

  “I understand that. But before doing anything, I think you should talk to the sheriff again.” He raised a hand when she started to object. “Just hear me out. We can be sitting on the sheriff’s doorstep first thing in the morning, Kansas. Before dawn, if you want. You sure as hell couldn’t do anything before then anyway, now could you?”

  “No.” Although she hated admitting it.

  “I’m just suggesting that we lay out everything we’ve learned in front of the sheriff. I know you were frustrated when you talked to him before—and maybe Simons still can’t do anything. Your brother isn’t breaking any laws by camping with a bunch of kids, and we don’t have a lick of proof that he’s in any danger. But I know Simons. He’ll at least listen, and if nothing else, he may have heard some more things about this group than he could tell us. You want to risk that not happening?”

  “No.”


  The starch seeped out of Pax’s shoulders when he realized she was agreeing with him. Still, his eyes studied hers sharply. “So we’ll talk to the sheriff…but no matter what he says, you can relax, Red, because I’ll go. It’s been a while since I hiked that whole area, but I know those mountains. It’ll take me some time to clear my decks, get some gear together, and make arrangements with Hank to take care of the place. But whether I agree with you or not—whether I think this is a damn fool idea or not—I’ll go. I’ll find this Valle de Oro, and if your brother is anywhere around there, I’ll find him. That’s a promise. You hear me?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, feeling overwhelmed, as if something inside was taking fragile, soaring wing. Pax was taking her side, even when he obviously disagreed with her. He couldn’t know what a gift that was. All her adult life, she’d never found a man who took her seriously. It was too easy to ignore the opinion of a pint-size female. Pax respected her point of view even if it wasn’t his own.

  “So…” Pax was still studying her warily. “We’re agreed on a plan? We’ll see the sheriff in the morning—and you won’t try to do anything tonight.”

  “I promise not to do anything tonight,” Kansas said sincerely. She had no problem agreeing to that part of his plan. There was only one small detail that she disagreed with, but that would wait until later. Right now, they might as well both get a good night’s sleep. There was no purpose in upsetting Pax until she had to.

  He hated getting upset, she knew. He wasn’t the tantrum type. He was the never-get-roiled-up-and-blow-your-cool type. She suspected that he expressed anger by going cold, instead of hot. And he’d probably get ultraquiet instead of loud.