by Tina Leonard
Chapter One
“Crazy Cody ain’t gonna do it. You fellows are wasting your time.” In Desperado, Texas, Sheriff Sloan McCallister crossed his boots on the desk and grinned at the two men hunched in chairs in front of him.
“He’s gotta! He’s got the best and biggest piece of land in Desperado, damn fool snake fighter. Those movie folks are gonna go elsewhere if they can’t make their picture here.” Curvy Watkins glared at Sloan for stating the fact that had them wrestled to the ground. Nobody could get Cody Aguillar to do a damn thing he didn’t want to do. To a man, nobody wanted to be the one to approach him about using his land for filming a movie. Cody was a loner. He was also crazier than a coot, with his rattlesnake skinning and his damn guitar. Some nights, when it was late enough to see a good harvest moon, a body could hear him playing that Spanish music. The sound was haunting, and the specter of the lonely man strumming that soulful music, with nobody but his old ma and some barn owls for company, could rattle the bones of a corpse.
“He ain’t gonna do it for any of us, that’s a fact.” Pick Jenkins picked his teeth in the fashion which had earned him his nickname, and spat. “That damn brother-in-law of his has made him too wealthy with his fancy schemes. Between him and Zach Rayez, they got enough money to interest the President. I say it’s ’bout time they contributed something to Desperado.”
“You say it, Pick, but I don’t see you suggesting how.” Sloan grinned at the two older men. Cody and Sloan had built up a healthy heap of respect for each other. If these two old fools thought they were going to elect him to go railroad Cody, they could take themselves back to the post office and sit back down on their self-appointed benches.
“Well,” Pick said, shooting a glance at the closed door of Sloan’s office, “I says we send her.”
All three men stared at the door. On the other side sat Stormy Nixon, a movie scout from Los Angeles. She had approached Curvy about the project, since he was the mayor of the town. Immediately, he had commandeered Pick, and together they’d brought Stormy to Sloan’s office in order to draw him into the scheme. She’d said her fantastic piece, which brought to mind a vision of tourist dollars floating through Desperado. Pick and Curvy were drooling, but Sloan held back his enthusiasm. It was all well and good for them to think he had some sway with Cody, but it wasn’t true. Respect wasn’t the same thing as leverage, and, while he had one with Cody, he didn’t have the other.
Stormy Nixon, he hated to tell them, wasn’t going to have any leverage, either.
“I think you boys are off your horses if you send her out to Cody’s house,” Sloan said. “It’s a bad thing, sending a woman to do your dirty work.”
“Ah, hell! It’s her job, Sloan. She’s the one hunting for a place to film. Let her go ask him.” Pick tried to look innocent, as if the suggestion were perfectly reasonable. Sloan knew better. Neither of the two cowards wanted to be the one to have Cody’s boot planted firmly in his butt as he kicked them off his property.
“I’m throwing in my lot with Curvy. You ain’t got a better idea, and we can’t lose the opportunity of at least letting Cody mull over her proposition. It could mean the difference between putting Desperado on the map, and us always sitting in nowhere.” Pick puffed up his chest to impress Sloan with the importance of his decision.
“Nowhere feels great to me.” Sloan leveled both men with a stare. “If you want city life, go live in Dallas. Or New York.”
“I ain’t saying that’s what I want. I’m saying it ain’t gonna hurt nothing for Desperado to have a little bit of outside revenue. We could use it.”
Curvy’s tone was defensive, but unfortunately, he spoke the truth. The wide highway that had been built through Desperado, basically dividing farmland that had been in families for generations, hadn’t brought the business to the town that they had hoped. The Stagecoach Inn didn’t see many customers. The local shops the townspeople had opened along the creek hadn’t seen as much business as they needed—though they’d managed to turn the creek into a small attraction for road-weary travelers. But that was mostly in the summer. A movie set would give Desperado some luster and bragging rights for certain, all year round.
“Unless you just want our town to be a place where strangers stop to take a piss, we need to at least give this a shot,” Pick added belligerently.
Sloan sighed. “All right. She wouldn’t be in the movie industry if she couldn’t handle a character like Cody. We’ll send her.”
Pick and Curvy grinned at Sloan’s begrudging consent.
“But,” he added, before either man could celebrate too much, “you pay her lodging at the Stagecoach for as long as she cares to stay in Desperado.” He held up his hand at the sputtering expressions in front of him. “I’m serious about this. I wash my hands of the whole mess, but I don’t want this Nixon gal completely thrown, Mayor. You send her out to beard Cody, and by golly, you can at least reach into the city funds to pay for her room and board while she’s here. The city can afford the food one little bitty lady can eat.” His tone left no room for argument.
“One of us ought to at least go with her.” Pick didn’t look enthused by the prospect.
“Yeah.” Sloan got to his feet. “You tell Miss Nixon you’ve thought of the perfect place for her film, and then one of you will escort her to the Aguillar Ranch.”
It was half-past five on a humid July evening. Cody had been riding fence checking on his steers, a prospect which was depressing in this heat. Everything that required water to live was suffering. Surely the drought of five years ago had been a stunt Mother Nature wouldn’t repeat this soon? No matter how hardy his steers were, he hated to think of the beef market bottoming out again. He knew several members of the farming community just might not be able to hang on to their livelihood for one more round of life-parching summer.
He sat down in the kitchen, reaching for a glass of tea, when someone knocked at the front door. Waiting a moment to see if his mother or his niece, Mary, would answer, Cody got up heavily and went to do it himself.
The woman on his front porch took his breath away in a startling way. “Yes?” he demanded brusquely.
She shifted, her gray eyes large in her face as she met his stare. “I’m looking for Cody Aguillar.”
“I’m Cody.” He had never seen hair so wild, so purple. It was stuffed up under something made of a flowery velvet that might once have been a hat of sorts, but which now resembled a rag. He wondered why she wore such a creation in this heat.
“My name’s Stormy Nixon. I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” She seemed uncertain as to whether that was still the case. “Did Sloan…I mean, Sheriff McCallister call you to say that I was coming?”
Cody shrugged. “Not that I know of. I’ve been out all day.”
“Oh. Well, I just left his office about thirty minutes ago. I got a little lost, or I would have been here sooner.”
Cody didn’t know what to say to that. He looked over her head, which wasn’t hard since she had to be all of about five foot two, and saw a compact rental car.
“Your friends, Pick and Curvy, offered to bring me out here, but I wanted to come alone. Maybe I should have let them show me the way.”
“They’re not my friends.” At her perplexed expression, he said, “What can I do for you?”
“I want to talk to you about a movie we’re interested in doing here in Desperado.”
“I don’t go to movies.” Though her unusual appearance had caught his attention at first—particularly those wide-legged, flowing pants with the wild-flower pattern—there was no reason for her to linger on his porch. He had more work to be done, and no time for movies. “
I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me—”
“Mr. Aguillar,” she said quickly, “perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Sheriff McCallister, and, um, Pick and Curvy—I do have that right, don’t I?”
He shrugged, promising himself to lecture Pick and Curvy sternly for sending a strange woman to his house. Those old men had nothing better to do than mind other folks’ business.
“Well,” she said, exasperated now, “the sheriff, the mayor and one other man seemed to think that you might be interested in letting Global Studios make a movie on your land. You have heard of Global Studios, haven’t—?”
“Lady—”
“Stormy Nixon,” she inserted swiftly. “How do you do?”
“I was doing just fine until you came along. Your time has been wasted, in a no-doubt well-meaning way. I would not be interested in discussing any movie, even if it was being filmed on the moon, but I sure as hell am not remotely dumb enough to let my land be used for such a thing. You’ve been sent on a wild-goose chase, and if I were you, I would head back down to see Curvy and Pick and tell them to think of someone else for you to play this little joke on.”
She drew herself up in astonished indignation. “I assure you, Mr. Aguillar, this is no joke.” Reaching into an enormous flowered handbag which looked more like a gypsy travel sack, she pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “We would offer you a substantial amount of money for the use of your land. It would be for a short time, only a few months—”
“I’m sorry.” He handed the business card back. When she wouldn’t take it, he slid it into the open mouth of the gypsy carpetbag. “I don’t have a few months to spare. I have a ranch to run. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Mr. Aguillar. Please. Won’t you just hear me out?” Big, gray-iris eyes gazed at him earnestly.
The phone rang, cutting off any chance she might have to plead her case. “I’m sorry. Good night, ma’am.” Silently, he closed the door and went to answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“Cody?”
“Sloan. Tell me you did not send that woman to my house.”
“Oh, damn. Has she already been there?”
“Hell, yes, and I just sent her on her way.”
“I got tied up with a—never mind. I meant to warn you she was coming.”
“Warn is right. Where the hell did she come from?” He’d never seen anyone quite like her. Sure, he was mighty used to blue jeans and boots on a woman, but he could go for a pair of decent pants or a church dress. What that tiny woman had been wearing, as she tottered on ridiculously high, purple-sandaled feet, was so incongruous on his farm he’d had to work hard not to stare.
It didn’t bear remembering that her waist had been so small he could have wrapped one palm around her and carried her off. She’d had delicate face bones, and beautiful full lips.
“Hollywood.” Sloan’s voice was dry as it sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “I hope you didn’t scare her, Cody.”
“Scare her? She scared me.”
“A little bitty ol’ lady like that scared you?” Sloan didn’t bother to hide his laughter now. “What is it your brother-in-law calls you? A cigar-store Indian?”
“Very damn funny.” Cody didn’t appreciate Sloan’s insinuation that Stormy might have had reason to be startled by his own appearance. “Don’t send any more strange females out my way, Sloan. Especially strange ones with stupid ideas.”
“Well, now, wait a minute, Cody. What’s so stupid about her proposition?”
“It’s stupid because it’s my land they’re thinking they’re going to use, and if I find out you sicced them on me—”
“No, it was Pick and Curvy. But then I started thinking maybe you just might be interested.”
Cody’s jaw dropped. “Why would I be interested in a bunch of city yahoos squatting on my land, throwing trash and scaring my steers?”
“I meant, interested in the woman.”
For a second, Cody was so stunned he couldn’t reply. “Have you lost your damn mind, Sloan?”
“Don’t think so, last I checked. It was just a thought, and I guess it was a bad one, so never mind.”
“What was just a thought?”
“That you might find her interesting. She’s kinda cute, if you like nutty.”
“When have I ever been attracted to nutty?” Cody demanded.
“When was the last time you were attracted to anyone?” Sloan countered.
“I—well, I— That’s none of your damn business! You stick to gunslinging, and I’ll stick to ranching, and we just might stay friends.” It was outrageous that Sloan, one of maybe a handful of people he trusted, would pull this on him. “While we’re on the subject, why not you, my friend? Since you obviously thought she was worth eyeballing.”
“Because I’m not the one who’s still in love with my dead brother’s wife,” Sloan said softly. “Annie’s been married to Zach now for years, Cody. It’s time to move on.”
Despair and hatred erupted inside Cody at the same time. Despair for the truth, and hatred for the unfortunate soul who would speak it aloud to him. “Sloan, next time I see you, you’re a dead man.”
“I know. From any other man, I could call that threatening an officer of the peace. With you, it’s a promise.” Sloan hung up the phone.
“Damn right,” Cody muttered, slamming the receiver down. He was not in love with Annie. She was a remarkable woman, and he had offered to marry her to care for her and Mary had she needed him to do it, to honor his brother’s memory. But Annie was a strong woman, and would only marry again the same way she’d married the first time: for deep, abiding love. She had found that with Zach Rayez, and he was happy for them. Cody fiercely loved his mother and Annie and Mary. But it would take a woman so special to get him to the altar that he couldn’t envision it happening. He was thirty-five, and not easy to get along with. There was no reason to change at this point. Still, his heart thundered in his chest, uncomfortably loud in the quiet house. Where was Ma, anyway, and Mary? He needed something to keep his mind off what Sloan had said. Air. He needed air to clear his head.
Thoroughly disgruntled, he jerked the front door open. Stormy looked at him sheepishly.
“I locked the keys in my car.”
“You locked your keys in your car,” he repeated, glancing over her head. “It’s running.”
“I know. I was backing out when I decided to leave a business card in your door. Just in case.” She took a deep breath. “So I hopped out and—”
“Locked your keys in your car while it was running.”
“Yes.” Her voice was breathy, somehow soft but not helpless. “Do you know anyone who could help me?”
Irritation flowed through Cody as he briefly wondered if she’d done this on purpose. The sweet, questioning look in her eyes kept him from telling her she’d have to call a locksmith to help her. The tilt in her straight, dainty nose as she stared up at him made the anger flow out of his tensed muscles. Sloan was a fool if he thought Cody needed a woman, but he could squarely say he was particularly safe from this one.
“Believe it or not, Miss Nixon, if you had to lock yourself out of your car,” he said, “you came to the right place.”
Men who were good with their hands were a species Stormy found extremely attractive. This one, with his strong facial features and swarthiness, was more attractive than most. The last thing she’d expected to find on her quest for the perfect location was a man whose handsome good looks belonged on the wide screen. Of course, he wouldn’t fit there; he’d be out of his element. But damn, oh, damn, Cody Aguillar was a man to make a woman’s pulse kick her heart into high gear. And when he went to work on her car with his large, capable hands, Stormy melted.
“There. All set.”
In a second, Cody had the door open, holding it for her like a gentleman. Stormy had seen a lot of fake chivalry in Hollywood, where a man might open a door once, especially if it might lead to her bedroom. On
ce they found out her bedroom was firmly off-limits, they never seemed to remember to treat her like a lady. More like an oddball.
With this man, the chivalry appeared to be firmly in character.
“Thank you so much,” she said, getting into the small rental car. “I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“It wasn’t much,” he said.
She caught a wry note in his voice, though he didn’t smile. Nor did he linger as he shut the car door for her. Swiftly, she jammed the button to let down the window. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
He nodded at her brusquely, and she had no choice but to nod with a stiff smile and let the window slide back up. Slowly, she reversed the car, conscious of the tall man with the long black braided hair and one feather earring who watched her like a hawk.
In two words, he’d managed to say more than she wanted to hear. He wouldn’t change his mind, and he wouldn’t call her.
Damn.
Chapter Two
“Stormy Nixon’s holed up at the Stagecoach,” Pick said, throwing the matchbook he’d been picking his teeth with onto Sloan’s desk. “Cody didn’t give her the time of day.”
“I could say I told you so.” Sloan sighed deeply. “But it’s too late in the day for me to get in an argument. You’d best take an ad out in the paper and see if anyone jumps at the chance to lease out their land.”
“But Stormy said they’d need several acres to do the project,” Curvy protested. “Most of the sodbusters have corn well into the growing season now, or crops they ain’t gonna want disturbed. Cody’s the only one with twenty-five hundred acres. Damn it, he’d never know them movie folks was there!”
The bent-over little man was becoming agitated. He’d had a spinal condition since his youth, making him shaped a bit like a curved bow. Right now, his indignation had him standing the straightest Sloan had ever seen him.
“I’ve done what I can to help you, and Miss Nixon. If we don’t have the land, she’ll just have to hit the next town and see if they’d be willing.” Sloan rose and reached for his hat.