by Norah Wilson
Cal’s mouth fell open at Lauren’s offer. “What the hell? Quarantine my ranch without knowing if it’s anthrax or not?”
Lauren silenced him with a none-too-subtle jab to the abdomen. “What Cal means is he runs a guest ranch here. It could spook a lot of people unnecessarily if this gets out to the media. He’ll be more than happy to cooperate with you to make sure an official order isn’t necessary. Isn’t that right, Cal?”
Holy shit, she was negotiating him right out of a humongous PR mess. He’d fumbled the ball, but it wasn’t too late to pick it up again. “Er, that’s right. That’s where I was going.”
“A guest ranch, eh?” Dr. Dysan looked skeptical. “How do you plan to keep paying customers from riding out on the range?”
Good question. How could he keep a dozen guests down on the farm? Then inspiration struck. “I’ll put on a rodeo.”
“A rodeo?” Lauren said.
“Yeah, we’ll make a big event of it.”
“Taggart…” Dr. Dysan turned curious eyes on him. “Oh, hell, now I know where I’ve heard that name. Bullriding, right?”
Cal wished he had his hat to tug down on his forehead. He felt naked without it. “Once upon a time.”
“I saw you cover all five bulls at the Worlds.” Admiration shone from his eyes. “You must have a bunch of gold buckles at home.”
“A few,” Cal said, trying to keep his voice relaxed.
“I gotta ask—what’s it like climbing on the back of a Whitewater or a Yellow Jacket?”
“Just like they say.” Cal gave him his best cowboy-to-cowboy grin. “Like stepping into an eight-second hurricane.”
Dr. Dysan laughed. “Well, I guess you have the credentials to entertain folks for a few days. But don’t be using any cattle from this particular pasture.”
Cal was buoyed by the other man’s implied acceptance. “We’ll just use calves, which are pastured with their mamas on the other side of that ridge.” He hooked a thumb eastward. “Don’t have a corral big enough to rope steers anyway.”
Dr. Dysan mulled it over a moment. “Okay,” he said at last. Then, turning to Lauren: “I’ll agree to no official order on a negative gram stain—as long as I have your assurance that you’ll live up to the spirit of a quarantine until the final results come back. It’ll be my ass in a sling if this goes sideways.”
Lauren gave her commitment without hesitation, and Cal could have kissed her. One land mine sidestepped, at least for now.
The fed must have heard his sigh of relief, even over the roar of the approaching backhoe. “Don’t call in the bullfighters just yet, Mr. Taggart. If this comes up positive, I’ll slap that quarantine order on tonight.”
Cal made no reply; the roar of the approaching machine would have drowned it anyway. He took Lauren’s arm and drew her back from the din while the inspector conferred with the operator.
“Thanks for what you did back there,” he shouted.
“Don’t thank me, thank Dr. Dysan.”
“Oh, I will, but you’re the reason he cut me some slack.”
She looked away. “I think you overestimate my influence.”
“If you hadn’t stepped in, he’d have shut me down.”
“Not if you’d flashed one of your gold buckles.”
He snorted. “Like I said, it’s a good thing you were here.”
She looked up at him. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it, would you, if he hadn’t recognized your name?”
Damn, why did it feel like she could look right into him with those pale blue eyes? He shrugged. “No, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Talking about my glory days makes me feel about as old as dirt. So it looks like I owe you one.”
It was her turn to shrug. “It was no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me.” He held her gaze intently. “You asked him for a professional favor, and he granted it. You put yourself on the line for me when you had nothing to gain by it.” His voice grew gruff. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me. I’ll see that you won’t regret it.”
He turned and strode back toward the others before his voice could crack like a twelve-year-old’s.
Lauren stared after Cal, her eyes stinging. Could it be that no one had ever stood up for him? Even though her own family had their hang-ups about her visions and would rather not acknowledge them, she’d always known they’d be there for her in a crisis. Okay, they might throw in an “I told you so!” or “See what happens when you pay attention to that stuff?”, but they’d be there.
Of course, she’d once thought Garrett would be there for her too, but in hindsight, she should have known he could never be that man. He was too upwardly mobile, too concerned about everyone else’s perceptions, to accept her. Of course, he’d been just a boyfriend, not a parent, and she’d been an adult, not a child.
Poor Cal had never had that security of knowing that someone had his back. What kind of a parent had Cal’s father been to deny his own son that basic birthright?
Her anger melted as something more insidious curled around her heart. Merciful heaven, did he have any idea how she ached to put her arms around him when his vulnerability peeked out from under those layers of tough cowboy? Did he do it on purpose?
No. There was no guile there. He wouldn’t angle for sympathy. Basic honesty had forced the admission from his lips.
She watched him cross the pasture, noting the fine shape of his head without his Stetson, the cowlick on the right side of his nape. Oh, but she loved him.
Lauren sucked in a sharp breath.
No, that was just careless thinking. It was lust, pure and simple. She loved his tough, wiry body. She loved his mobile mouth and the hard planes of his face. She loved the way he stood sometimes, one hand on his hip, the other thumbing his eyebrow in that way that was uniquely his.
And she loved the way he made love to her.
Yes, that was it. Just a greed to possess—and be possessed—by his driving masculinity.
Later that night, she lay nestled against him in the narrow bed in her cabin, their bodies cooling quickly in the aftermath of their lovemaking. As he stroked her back, his rough hands impossibly tender, she wondered how she was ever going to live without this. When it was all over and she went back home, how was she going to make her life work for her again? She used to think everything she needed was back there—her family, her friends, her BFF, her practice, her team. Oh God, her dogs. She missed the hell out of them. So why did she feel so empty?
That’s when it hit her, the ominous prickling sensation crawling across her scalp. Oh God, here it came again. The vision.
Cal lifted his head from the pillow. “You okay?”
She must have tensed, given herself away. “Migraine,” she murmured. “I can feel it starting.”
He raised himself up on one elbow, his gray eyes serious. “Migraine or that other business?”
She didn’t have to ask what that other business was. “No, this is different.”
The lie passed her lips easily, convincingly. If he thought she was going to be rendered helpless by paralysis, he’d never leave her to face it alone. And she couldn’t bear for him to see her that way again. “But I’m going to need you to leave. If I turn off the lights and remove all stimulation, it’ll go away quickly.”
“You want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, Lauren.” A frown furrowed his brow. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone, especially when you’re in pain.”
“Oh, but it doesn’t hurt.” She had no trouble infusing that statement with honesty. The tingling would tighten into a hot band of pressure, but that part would pass quickly. “It’s more of an ocular disturbance.” Which it was. Sort of. “If I can just get rid of all external stimulation for an hour or two, I’ll bounce right back. Scout’s honor.”
His gaze pinned her. “You’re sure it’s not the seizure thing?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve had this since
puberty. I think I know what I’m dealing with.”
His lips curved. “Okay. I should get some rest anyway. And I definitely should let you get some.”
She grinned wickedly. “Oddly enough, I do feel a little drained. Maybe I got too much sun this afternoon…”
He snorted. “Too much sun? Woman, you got too much lovin’.”
Five minutes and a half-dozen kisses later, she closed the door on him. She leaned against the door a moment, her smile fading as she listened to him stride off. A perverse sense of abandonment rose in her chest.
Stupid. She’d sent him away, after all. He hadn’t abandoned her. What she felt now was nothing more than the loneliness that always engulfed her when the visions came. No one could help her with that.
She’d been lucky, she supposed, that that whole thing happened when she was five. The departure of the visions had allowed her to have a normal childhood and adolescence. Well, as normal as anyone’s was. But then they’d come roaring back in university, after she’d read that damned headline. Now they came and went when they would, dragging her off to someplace she was destined to go alone.
She walked back to the bedroom on trembling legs, made the bed, and stretched out on the coverlet.
“Bring it on,” she muttered through stiffened lips. “Just you bring it on. I’m going to find you.”
Ten minutes later, the vision exploded on her consciousness. This time she was ready for it.
Marlena from behind, with the breathtaking pink and purple tableau of Sunset Ridge behind her. Marlena turning. Marlena smiling that sultry, inviting smile. Instead of wasting time on taking in those details, Lauren reached for the murderer, strained toward his mind. If he were in her head, showing her this, or if she were in his head, then dammit, surely she could feel something of him.
Marlena getting closer in the “camera” of her vision. Gloved hands skimming up her arms. Marlena’s smile turning lascivious. Then those gloved hands coming up, seizing Marlena’s throat. Marlena’s surprise, shock, terror. The struggle.
No, no, no, don’t look at that! Look inward. Look at him.
Die!
The word came through as clear as though it had been spoken inside her head. That’s right, you stupid slut. I want you to die. That’s the only thing I want from you. That piece of heaven between your legs won’t help you now, you whore. Now give me what I want!
Marlena’s struggles growing more feeble. Marlena sagging, collapsing. No life left, no breath.
Oh God, it was so much worse, knowing the victim, seeing her vitality snuffed out, her beauty desecrated so callously. Lauren’s stomach churned sickly.
The vision faded and there was nothing left in Lauren’s head but her own scream.
She lay there, helpless tears sliding down her cheeks, desperately trying to quell the nausea knotting her stomach and filling her mouth with saliva. Don’t throw up, she admonished herself even as she willed the paralysis away. For God’s sake, don’t throw up. You might aspirate it.
Finally movement started to come back. As soon as her limbs would cooperate, she rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom, where she vomited until she thought the very lining of her stomach would come up.
When it had passed, she slumped to the floor and drew her knees up. With a trembling hand, she pushed her hair back from her cold, clammy forehead. She reached for a tissue and wiped her mouth, then blew her nose. Ugh. She needed to rinse her mouth and brush her teeth this minute.
She pushed herself to her feet and approached the sink, catching a glimpse of herself in the simple wood-framed mirror. Lord, she looked like death.
Averting her eyes, she reached for the glass on her vanity, filled it, and rinsed her mouth. Too bad you can’t rinse your brain out too, she thought as she spat into the sink. She felt completely violated by what she’d sensed of the killer.
And why was she having so many visions of this murder? Usually she had two, maybe three visions before they went away. Which of course they did once the murder actually happened. This was her fifth vision, and they seemed to be getting closer together. Was it because she’d met the victim? Or perhaps because she was so geographically close to the crime scene?
But one thing was certain—the more times she had the vision, the more she sensed of the killer’s emotions. As horrific as the visions were, she’d take one every night if it meant she could figure out who this bastard was before he struck.
Goddammit, who are you?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cal leaned on the fence of the “arena” as one of his men pelted through the tight cloverleaf pattern of the barrel race. A.J.’s last turn left a barrel wobbling, but it stayed upright as he sprinted out of the arena to appreciative applause.
“That was Foothills’s own A.J. McKay,” Jim Mallory said over the borrowed PA system. “Let’s give the man a hand.”
He’d gotten word late yesterday that the gram stain test was negative. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t anthrax, but it did give them the breathing room Lauren had bargained for. Since that call, Cal had worked flat out to get things ready. Though Jim, Spider, and Seth knew the real reason for keeping everyone cooped up on the ranch, he’d kept it as quiet as possible. His men had had to be called in, but they hadn’t minded leaving the sweaty job of putting up hay to strut their stuff on horseback. And so far, his guests seemed to be enjoying the show.
The next rider was Marlena. Her mount, one of Cal’s most promising young quarter horses, could turn on a dime. Cal had to admit his ex-wife made a pretty damned appealing picture in full riding gear, from the intricately tooled snakeskin boots on her feet to the straw Resistol on her head, although most everyone’s gaze was trained on what was in between. Namely closefitting jeans topped by a soft blue western shirt tailored within an inch of its life to show off her ample bust.
With a “Hiyah!” she burst onto the course. Marlena’s balance was perfect, and the compact sorrel beneath her chewed up the cloverleaf pattern, then hurtled back out the gate to enthusiastic cheers.
Very nice. They weren’t set up to measure split seconds, but that was damned fast. That Serendipity was one fine animal. Hell, Marlena was a fine animal herself, he conceded. Amazing that he could look on her beauty now and be utterly unmoved.
As he watched, Marlena vaulted off her mount. Seth stepped forward to take the reins. Elated from her ride, a laughing Marlena reached up, grabbed Seth’s face, and laid a fast, hard kiss on him. Then she turned him loose and strode away, leaving him looking dazzled and love-struck.
Cal cast a glance toward Brady, who was waiting to take his turn with his own mount, which he’d trailered over that morning. Beneath his battered Stetson, his young face was cast in tight, angry lines.
Yeah, that right there. That’s why she leaves you cold, Taggart.
“Wow, that ride was incredible.”
Cal turned to find Lauren at his side, pretty in a flowered skirt and poppy-orange tank. She’d taken to wearing skirts since they’d stopped the trail rides. As much as he liked her mile-long legs outlined in jeans, he had to admit this was good too. There was something about the way the soft material draped from her hips…
“Incredible,” he agreed. “Serendipity’s her name and she’s still got a few rough edges, but she’s gonna be something else.”
The explosion of another horse from the gate drew their attention back to the corral. This time it was Brady putting his paint through the course. When horse and rider surged back out of the gate, the crowd erupted again appreciatively.
“How’s the head?” he asked.
“Much better. It was gone within the hour.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What were you doing this morning with the other corral?” Lauren nodded in the direction of the east corral with its series of chutes that they normally used to work the cattle at branding time. “Getting it ready for another event?”
“Yep.” He wasn’t sure how she was going to like this. Hell,
he wasn’t sure he liked it that much. “Checking the tensile strength of the rails. Had to replace a few.”
Her brow furrowed. “How come? Are you going to run steers after all? I thought you said the corrals were too small.”
Just then Spider hailed him. “Yo, Boss. I think I found just the bull you’re looking for. He’s on his way this very minute.” Belatedly he tipped his hat to Lauren. “Ma’am.”
Cal cut straight to the point. “You sure he’ll buck?”
Spider looked insulted. “Wouldn’t be much of a show if he didn’t, now would it?”
Lauren gasped. “You’re going to have bullriding?”
“Yup.” Cal saw the leap of fear in her eyes.
“Cal, what if someone get hurts? Think about liability.”
“This’ll be a one man show, and nobody’s going to get hurt.”
“You could get hurt.”
The words seemed wrung from her.
“The only thing that might get hurt is my reputation,” he assured her. “If this bull lets me ride him like a yard dog, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“No fear there,” Spider said. “I found you a bona fide professional. Leastways he used to be. Rancher over in the next county bought him with an eye to breeding bucking bulls.”
“A pro?” Cal felt his pulse quicken. “Do I know him?”
“Boy, howdy, I’ll say!” Spider’s grin almost split his face. “It’s your ol’ one-horned pal from Vegas.”
A jolt of respect straightened Cal’s spine. “Misadventure?”
“Yep. Looks like you’ve got yourself a rematch, Boss.”
“Rematch?” Lauren’s horrified gaze went from Cal to Spider. “What do you mean, his old pal?”
Spider was more than happy to fill in her information gaps. “Misadventure’s the devil who ventilated Cal’s innards for him.”
Lauren’s vision dimmed and the noise of the crowd seemed to soar, then recede, like waves breaking on the shore. Reflexively she gripped the fence. Cal was going to ride a bull. Not just any bull, but one that had tried to kill him, judging by the scars it had left behind. Scars she’d traced with her own fingers. With her mouth.