Desert Heat

by D'Ann Lindun

  Running a hand through his hair, Mike sat back and stared out the window. The sun was just rising over the Superstitions, casting a pink and golden glow over their peaks. Like everyone else in Arizona, he’d heard the legend of the Lost Dutchman. That story was the most famous, but there were dozens more like it. Like anyone who had a romantic heart, Skeeter had apparently wanted to believe. But unlike most people, he’d chased shadows across the desert for a quarter of a century. This map was useless. No secret code, no clear lines directing him to the rich mine. Nothing at all. Just an old map of the area. Worthless. Less than that. Mike had one more valuable in the library. Drawn by the cavalry, the map he owned was worth a small fortune.

  Mike wasn’t going to throw away his life like the old desert rat had. And he wasn’t going to hurt Mallory. Somehow, Mike had to make up for what he had done. The first thing was to slip the map back in her purse. After she rested and felt better, he’d show her around. He’d do his best to see she connected with her father in some way.

  Then he had to figure out a way to fight the SRPL with no money.

  ~*~

  Mallory groaned and rolled over.

  She fumbled with her glasses and moaned again when she read the green lights on her portable clock.

  11:59.

  A minute before noon.

  She glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings. The night before came rushing back to her as she noted the chair under the door and the bright bathroom light. She examined her palms. Although sore, they looked okay. A little red in spots, but not unbearable. No one would guess she’d stuck them in a pile of cholla. Mike had been so kind the way he had painstakingly pulled the tiny needles from her skin. A tingle swept through her and she forced it away. She wanted to go home as soon as possible and forget him, this ranch, and her time here.

  Liar.

  What she really wanted was to find out more about Skeeter.

  And if she were honest, Mike.

  Rain pounded the glass door and it sounded like quite a storm. Great. Leave it to her to bring rain to Arizona, the state that usually got less than none. So much for exploring the desert today. Throwing her covers off, she headed for the bathroom. She wouldn’t find out anything lying around like a slug.

  After a quick shower, she felt like a new woman. Tidying her room, she noticed her purse. Frowning, she dumped the contents on the bed. Just in case she’d missed the map last night, she searched through her things again. But it wasn’t there. Just as she’d known it wouldn’t be. Who had taken it, and why? Mike? But for what reason? Did he think the old map had some validity? He had acted weird last night when she dropped it. She couldn’t believe he would steal from her after he’d been so nice.

  After replacing her things and making sure that her door was locked safely behind her, she headed for the kitchen. She slowed at Mike’s door, but didn’t stop. He didn’t need to babysit her more than he already had. He’d invited her to use the kitchen, so she didn’t think he’d mind if she fixed herself a cup of tea and some toast.

  No one was around, so finding a cup and an herbal tea bag took a few minutes but she eventually succeeded. While the microwave nuked the water, she found wheat-berry bread and stuck two pieces in the twelve-slice toaster. In the light of the clean, normal kitchen, Mallory could almost forget the events of the night before. The Benadryl box sat by the sink and she took two more as a precaution against a late reaction, but she didn’t think she would have one now after several hours rest.

  As she was buttering her bread, Brent slipped in. Under the bright fluorescent lights, he looked even thinner and more ill than he had the night before. He looked surprised to find her there but his tone was friendly. “Morning. Finding everything all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Mallory took her tea from the microwave. “Is there sugarless sweetener anywhere?”

  He pointed to a container beside her. “There.”

  “Thanks.” She opened two packets and added them to her tea. Sipping it, she studied him. For someone who made his living in the sun his skin didn’t show the effects. A pasty gray shade, it looked as if he hadn’t been outside in a long time.

  “I heard you had a wild night. Are you okay?” he asked. He moved to the fridge, rummaged around and slipped something in his pocket. Because the open door stood between them, she couldn’t tell what it was. Probably an orange or an apple.

  “Fine.” She tried to think of a way to ask him who he thought might’ve taken the horse out as a lure but nothing came to mind.

  “Are you an archeologist, like your dad?” His question took her off guard. He had seemed interested in Skeeter last night, too. He closed the fridge and turned back toward her.

  “I have a minor in it,” she said, “but my specialty is Environmental Science.”

  A frown swept across his skeletal face and his brown eyes filled with disgust. “Oh.”

  She squared her shoulders for what was coming. “I teach at UNLV.”

  “You’re an environmentalist,” he almost spat.

  “Yes, I care about the environment.” She wasn’t radical about her beliefs, but she did care that there were resources for the next generations. She refused to apologize for it. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see two sides of a story. Like here, for instance—”

  “What about here?” Mike asked as he came in the room. “How’re your hands?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he took one palm and examined it. His touch was gentle, sending a quiver through her that had nothing to do with her sore palms.

  Mallory lifted her chin and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I was just telling Brent what I do for a living. I teach Environmental Issues at UNLV.”

  Like Brent, Mike’s sunny smile faded and he dropped her hand. “I see.”

  Mallory felt like she’d kicked a dog. “I was saying I can see two sides of a story. Like here, for instance. I can see why people wouldn’t want you to use the river—”

  “Can you really?” he interrupted. “You might want to know that we’ve been using and taking care of the Salt River for more than two decades. The people who are so hell bent on “protecting” it are only worried about keeping it so another hundred or so families who move to Phoenix every day can have drinking and bathing water.”

  “Is that true?” she asked. “Or is there some other reason? Like they might want the birds and fish who need the river to survive to have a place, too?”

  Mike looked ashamed for a second. “Maybe. But if that’s true, they haven’t proven it.”

  “Rafting doesn’t hurt anything.” Brent fisted his hands. “We don’t bother anybody.”

  “Are you sure?” Mallory asked gently. “Have you asked the wildlife if they mind you cruising across their home two or three times a day? And there are other commercial users, too, right?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “We are willing to work around the animals,” Mike said through tight lips. “But these groups’ tactics are out of control. They went to a judge and got not only The Cholla, but my neighbors, shut down. When the ranch is running, I employ two dozen people. All out of work. Surely you can understand my point of view, too, Miss James.”

  “I do. I think there’s got to be a happy medium. Keeping the environment safe and meeting the needs of the people who inhabit it as well.” Mallory tried to reason, but neither of them were listening. Brent stared at his shoes and Mike’s arms were folded across his chest and his jaw was jutted out in a stubborn angle.

  “If you figure out a way to please those nuts, I’d like to hear it,” he said.

  “I’ll think about it.” She changed the subject. “I was wondering if you would mind if I borrowed a car? Or take me to Mesa so I can rent one? I’d like to do a bit of exploring today.”

  “You’re more than welcome to use any of the ranch vehicles,” he said. “But there’s no need for you to drive. I’m sure your hands are still sore. I’ll drive you anywhere you’d like to go.”


  Mallory couldn’t see a way, short of being rude, to tell him she didn’t want company. She wanted to drive to Tortilla Flat and Goldfield and see if anyone knew Skeeter. “Do you have time to take me along the Apache Trail, specifically to Tortilla Flat?”

  “Sure,” he agreed easily. “I don’t have any pressing business today. When would you like to go?”

  “Right away, if you’re sure you can get free,” she said.

  “I’m going to do some maintenance on the rafts.” Brent shot her an unfriendly look. “For when we get back in business.” Then he slipped out the door.

  “I didn’t make any friends there.” Mallory hadn’t done anything wrong, but she felt like she’d just stuck her foot in her mouth and there was no getting it out.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mike said. “He’s just sick over this whole thing. He thinks it’s his fault we’re shut down.”

  “Why would it be his fault?” If that were true, it was no wonder Brent looked ill.

  “It’s not,” Mike said. “It’s mine.”

  ~*~

  Mallory sat back in the leather seats of the SUV and watched a gray, lacy mist swirl around the Superstitions. Although she wore a light sweater, a chill climbed up her arms and neck. Mike traveled along a well-maintained dirt road but it wasn’t hard to imagine the Apaches who had inhabited this land for generations hiding in the shadows on their painted ponies. She blinked away the vision and focused on the landscape.

  A continuous drizzle darkened her mood. She did love the view, though. An ominous gray sky was a striking background for the army of cactus in front of it. The different cacti stood out in sharp contrast in shades of green ranging from the lima bean colored palo verde trees to the darker kelly of the stately saguaros. Even the awful cholla were pretty—their vicious spikes white against their mint colored stalks. She knew from the area around Vegas that the desert floor would be covered with tiny, frail stalks of grass by tomorrow. The rain would bring the stark land alive for a brief time. How could anyone not want to protect this place?

  “Does this remind you of the terrain at home?” He waved a hand in an arc.

  “No, not really. The desert there is more open. Less cactus.” She looked out the side window again. “I like this.”

  “Even after your adventure with cholla last night?” She could hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

  “Yes. Even still.” Maybe Skeeter’s influence was rubbing off on her, but she found she did appreciate this desert in ways she didn’t the one at home. Perhaps it was just the unfamiliar versus the familiar. Whatever the reason, she found herself drawn to the Arizona desert in ways she’d never experienced in the Nevada landscape.

  Mike went around a bend in the road and Goldfield rose up before them. Intrigued, Mallory leaned forward to get a better look at the town. Taking in the town, it wasn’t hard to imagine it in another era, as a few old-fashioned buildings lined the street. Although now a tourist attraction, the structures were over a hundred years old.

  Mike parked in front of one of the old buildings and she exited the SUV. No one else seemed to be out in the rain as Mallory stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the museum.

  A closed sign was on the door. Turning, she looked for another establishment that might have someone inside whom she could talk to. Her gaze roamed from the rock shop to the coffee shop. The latter seemed the most likely, and she headed that way, Mike beside her. He held the door open and she entered.

  A few tables covered with red-and-white tablecloths sat in the middle of the room. A lone waitress, her hair teased up in a fifties bouffant, stood behind the counter, her attention fixed on a soap opera playing on a black-and-white TV hanging from the ceiling.

  Mallory chose a seat by the window. Mike sat across from her. Mallory looked around, curious about the small café. Business cards covered every available space. The walls, under the glass on the tables, the bar. For several minutes, the waitress kept her attention glued to the screen. Finally, she looked their way and stood. Shuffling toward them she said, “I waited two whole months to find out how Luke was going to get out of this jam. Wish he’d get Laura out of that institution, but it ain’t lookin’ good.”

  Unsure how to reply, Mallory didn’t.

  Mike smiled. “We hate to interrupt.”

  “Hey, no problem. It’s over for another day now. What can I get you folks?” The woman, whose faded nametag said Faye, cocked her hip in that way all waitresses seem to know. “Coffee? Chili’s a mite old. Stew’s good though.”

  “Coffee is all I want,” Mallory said. Her breakfast hadn’t been all that long ago. Besides, her jumpy stomach made the idea of food impossible.

  “Make it two.” He held up two fingers.

  “You betcha.” Faye stuffed her pen behind her ear and shuffled away. She seemed relieved they didn’t want to eat.

  After she turned away, Mike winked and Mallory had to stifle a giggle that bubbled up her throat. She forced herself to look serious when Faye returned carrying two cups and a carafe. Placing her load on the table in front of them, Faye put a hand on her hip. “What brings you two out in the rain?”

  “I’m in Arizona to bury my father.” Mallory’s throat unexpectedly tightened. “And I wanted to visit some of the places he lived.”

  “That’s rough.” Faye’s wrinkled face creased a fraction more. “He lived here in Goldfield? It’s a mighty small place. Maybe I knew him?”

  “Skeeter,” Mike said. “The old prospector with the little burro named Nobody.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Sure I know Skeeter.” Faye blinked a few times. “You’re his kid? Why, I didn’t know he had any babies. He died? When?”

  Mallory tried not to let it hurt that Skeeter hadn’t mentioned her, but the old pain lay on her heart like an anchor. “Yes, Skeeter was my father. I hadn’t seen him in years and I’m trying to understand him a little better.”

  Faye clicked her tongue. “Honey, there wasn’t a lot to old Skeeter. He didn’t talk much. What he did say was about the desert.”

  “Anything in particular?” Mike lifted his cup and drank.

  Faye frowned and her wrinkled face scrunched up like a used piece of tissue. “Not that I can recall. Just casual stuff about the weather, the snakes, that kind of thing.”

  “Did you see him often?” Mallory rolled her cup between her hands. Had Skeeter and the waitress had a romantic relationship? She almost smiled at the idea.

  “Nope. Just once in awhile when he’d come in for a few supplies. He’d drop in and have a cup of joe and rest his bones.” Faye gave her head a little shake. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Did he ever mention gold or the Lost Dutchman?” Mallory tried to keep her voice calm. She didn’t want to scare Faye off by appearing over eager.

  A loud laugh erupted from Faye. “Honey, you aren’t from around here, are you?” At Mallory’s puzzled look, she grinned. “Not one person doesn’t come through these doors that doesn’t ask about that old story. Skeeter wasn’t any different.”

  “What did he say, exactly?” Mike pressed.

  Both women looked at him, Mallory a little longer. Why was he so interested? For her sake? Or some other reason?

  “I mean, did he have a lead on the old mine?” Mike sounded a little too disinterested.

  Faye laughed again. “Sure he did, son. Just like every other gold huntin’ fool that comes out here lookin’ for that old ghost. They all think they’re the one who’s going to find the trail and uncover the gold.”

  Mallory swallowed her disappointment. She hoped her father would somehow be different. That he might have been the one who could bring the gold home. “Didn’t someone actually find something a few years ago?” Something had been nagging her since all this talk about lost mines. She snapped her fingers. “Yes. I remember now. The Peralta stone tablets.”

  Faye’s face took on a guarded look. “I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  “A man va
cationing in the desert found them. They were a series of stone tablets written in Spanish with clues on them. Many believe they are the map to the Lost Dutchman, among others.” Feeling Mike’s curious gaze on her, Mallory looked at him. “All this talk about the mine triggered my memory. There was a big write-up about the Peralta Stones in an academic magazine last year. Since my father was an archeologist, I was naturally interested . . .”

  He nodded and she hated the flash of pity in his blue eyes. So what if she’d wanted to feel close to her father by showing an interest in some of the same things he liked? It wasn’t like she was some desperate little girl trying to hold on to her father’s love by pretending to be something she wasn’t. She had a genuine admiration for archeology.

  “Are you ready then?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He drained his coffee in one gulp and dropped a bill on the table. “Whenever you are.”

  “Now, I guess.” Mallory smiled at Faye. “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome, hon. Hope you find what you’re lookin’ for.” She snatched the five off the table and stuffed it deep in her pocket.

  “Looks like the rain has picked up,” Mike commented at the door.

  “You best head back.” Faye swung the coffee pot the way they had come. “There’s likely to be a flash flood between here and Tortilla Flat.”

  “We’ll take our chances.” Mike shrugged on his jacket. “I have a four-wheel drive and I know the desert.”

  “That’s what they all say, son.” Her cackle followed them outside and up the street.

  “Is she right? Do we need to turn back? My time here is so limited that I hate to miss this opportunity.” Mallory glanced up at the rain filled sky.

  “Tell you what. We’ll drive up the road and if it looks bad we’ll turn around. If it looks safe we’ll go on. She’s right that we don’t want to get stuck in a gully in the rain.”

  “There’s flash floods in Nevada, too,” Mallory said a bit impatiently.