She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787)

by Duquette, Anne Marie

  “He didn’t. I don’t blame him for feeling like that.” She shook her. head. “Quite a deliberate man, our hurler. I wonder what’s next.”

  “If he expands his actions, we’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll give the next shift all the details, Sheriff,” Jamie said after finishing with the storekeeper. The three were outside on the wooden boardwalk. “If you want to head home, I’ll drop off the paperwork.”

  “Maybe we will,” Desiree said. “Thanks, Jamie.”

  “Oh, Rogelio dropped off two horses for you. He said—”

  “Who told him about my car?” Desiree asked sharply.

  “I did. Morgan and Wyatt weren’t available, so I talked to him.”

  “I’d rather Caro didn’t hear about this,” Desiree said under her breath. “Or the kids—Travis and Cat.”

  “It’s hard to keep secrets in this family,” Virgil replied. “But Travis isn’t involved...”

  Desiree didn’t respond.

  Jamie waved. “Have a nice evening, boss.”

  “You, too. Virgil, lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”

  He headed down the street, limping noticeably. She joined him a few minutes later, carrying a bag from the general store beside the vandalized craft shop they’d just visited.

  Virgil’s mood was less than tolerant. “You know, we’ve got arson, graffiti and property damage on our hands, not to mention our own local rapist. I hardly think a shopping expedition is what’s needed here.”

  Desiree started at the angry words, but her response was kind. “You’re right. Stay here. I’ll bring the horse to you.”

  Virgil felt like the muck scraped off a pair of work boots. He hadn’t felt this low, this discouraged since leaving L.A. His son was an arson suspect—he knew it even if Desiree didn’t. His feet hurt in those damnable uniform boots. And he’d been rude to a woman. Lord, if his father had been alive, he’d have taken him out behind the woodshed for a good thrashing.

  He was tired to the bone. Worse, he was no closer to solving this recent rash of crimes than the rookie sheriff was.

  At least she’s still going strong.

  DESIREE MADE HER WAY to the horses inside the small corral, deliberately avoiding her defaced car. She still felt like a creosote bush shaking in a sandstorm. It wasn’t the crude words or filthy drawings that unnerved her; it was the viciousness behind them.

  Then those broken store windows!

  They were deliberately shattered, with the same careful attention to detail as the multiple car burnings. Whoever did this is flaunting his actions. I hate having to sit here and take it!

  It was difficult to pretend in front of Virgil and the rest of the staff that the attack on her car didn’t affect her. Difficult to act the professional at all times... To fight the little voice inside her that said, Someone’s not playing by the rules. You know how dangerous that can be.

  Everyone expected her to solve these crimes. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it. At least Virgil had stopped harassing her about her lack of experience. I hope that means I’m passing muster. So far, giving it my hundred percent isn’t helping.

  She put her difficulties to the back of her mind and tied Onyx’s lead to her saddle. She mounted up and made her way toward Virgil’s location. Without further ado he mounted his own horse, and they left the roads of Tombstone for the dirt trail leading to the Silver Dollar.

  THE SKY REMAINED CLEAR, sunset still an hour away. Desiree stole a glance at Virgil. He looks as tired as I feel.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Virgil looked every one of his forty-odd years. “Just a little tired.”

  “Let’s stop somewhere and watch the sunset,” Desiree said suddenly. “Where’s a good place?”

  Virgil thought about that. The idea was appealing. “There’s an outcropping my mother used to take me to. We’re not far from it.”

  Desiree nodded. Virgil clicked his tongue, urging Onyx into an easy canter, Pearl Drop right behind. The horses, bred for centuries to race in the hot desert sun, stretched out of their own accord, despite the heat.

  Virgil let the stallion have his head. He crouched low in the saddle, his weight over the forelegs as much as possible. The spine of a horse was like a giant spring, the lift of the haunches providing momentum for the rear legs to plant, dig, push and explode with pure power, massive propulsion, huge distance. The larger the area of spine left free, the faster the ride.

  A whisper of air advanced from his right. Onyx’s ears pricked back, then forward again as he increased his speed to outdistance the approaching mare. He heard a wild cowboy yen—Desiree’s yell—and the mare appeared in his peripheral vision. The impromptu race became a real one as Desiree urged her horse forward.

  A smile crossed Virgil’s face, and excitement poured through his veins. Onyx was a big horse, one of the larger Arabians specially bred for the Bodine men. Their tall frames were too heavy for the more common, compact desert Arabian.

  Pearl Drop was much smaller than Onyx. Even though Desiree weighed less, Virgil had the rider-to-horse advantage.

  You may win in the election booth, Desiree, but you’ll never beat me on a horse.

  “You’re dead meat, Bodine!” he heard Desiree cry. That expression startled him. He’d heard her sister use it when racing—and beating-Wyatt on horseback. It was as if she were reading his mind again. That’s okay. He concentrated on maintaining his riding form. Wyatt had never cared about winning; he competed against himself. Virgil always cared about winning—and usually did.

  “You won’t win this time!” Desiree yelled, startling him again. That woman always seems to know what l’m thinking. May never did. My brothers never did. Not even my own son. How does she do it?

  He saw the mare pull alongside him, then nose ahead. Virgil almost lost his seat at what he saw.

  She’s riding jockey-style!

  She was actually riding straight up in the stirrups, her behind—and, oh, my, what a cute behind it was—perfectly balanced. Despite the rocky surface, uneven trail and failing sunlight, she was up in the stirrups as high as she could go.

  Even without sore feet, there was no way Virgil could do what she was doing. He was too large to balance his total weight over the stallion’s forelegs and neck. But Desiree was jockey-size, and Pearl Drop trusted her.

  There was no question; the females were edging the males out of the race. Virgil touched his heels to Onyx, urging him even faster. The stallion ran to win, Virgil rode to win....

  But the mare ran for the sheer joy of running. And the woman rode for the sheer joy of riding....

  Passion, as so often happened, won hands down. Onyx slowed first, lathered and knowing himself beat. Pearl Drop continued to race ahead, enjoying her triumph. It wasn’t until Desiree fell back into the saddle that the mare slowed. She dropped down to an exaggerated, almost unnatural trot, an extra-gaited step between a trot and a canter that only the most talented horses could manage, and an even smaller number could do well. Pearl Drop did it exquisitely, and only because Desiree was balanced perfectly.

  He heard Desiree’s voice, rich and bold in the desert air. “Look at her, Virgil! Just look at her victory dance!” Desiree laughed out the words, the reins loose in her hands, giving the mare full control of the bit. “Trust a female to show off!”

  Virgil watched the two—the energy within them bubbling and pouring forth. Had he ever had that kind of energy in his life? If so, it was in the past, so far back he could barely remember it. He watched them, the blond, delicately boned woman on the slight horse, and wasn’t envious in the least.

  He was grateful. More grateful than he could remember being in a long time. The vitality and joy before him brought Virgil a sense of deep contentment. A feeling of simple happiness he hadn’t felt in years.

  Woman and horse, their long shadows dancing on the desert floor, finally slowed to a walk. Pearl Drop snorted and fidgeted with the bit, while Desiree’s laughter died a
way.

  She ran her hand affectionately up and down the mare’s lathered neck—something he knew most riders found distasteful. He thought of May, living in her prefabricated world of sets and fake lighting, and the contrast was almost painful. Then Desiree addressed him, and the moment’s pain disappeared.

  “Are we too late to see the sunset from your special place? I don’t want to run her anymore.”

  “Not at all. By the time we finish walking them, we’ll be there.” He gestured toward the rocky platform ahead of them, the broken rock studded with cactus and yucca. There was a smooth area beyond it that boasted easy footholds, along with a makeshift hitching post built long ago. “Follow me.”

  A few minutes later the horses were cooled and tied, and the riders began to climb up the rocks. Virgil went first. He looked over his shoulder and saw that she had taken her purchase out of the saddlebag and placed it inside her shirt. Then she was behind him, climbing easily. They reached the top, where an ancient blanket, threadbare and faded, had been left.

  “You’ve been here before,” she said as they sat comfortably. Desiree removed the bag from inside her shirt and placed it beside her.

  “Four generations of Bodines have,” Virgil said.

  Desiree faced the sunset. “I can see why. What a beautiful view!”

  The mountains were highlighted against the sun and the wide-open sky, which swirled with the dramatic colors of an Arizona evening. The sparsely armed saguaros cast long shadows on the desert floor. Except for the hitching post, they could have been in virgin land.

  “My mother and I used to come up here to talk about the Earps.”

  Desiree continued to watch the sunset. “And about your connection to them, right? Which Bodines only tell their wives and their children—after swearing them to secrecy, that is.”

  “You know?”

  “Only that much. Caro told me, but I didn’t press any further. Is this when you tell your wives—during a romantic sunset?”

  “No, that’s usually a honeymoon revelation.”

  She chuckled. “Now, that ought to be interesting. Here the woman expects sweet nothings in her ear, and she gets a history lesson. I wonder how Caro took it,” Desiree mused. “Calm and collected, I imagine. Caro usually is. Jasentha probably already knew, being raised on the ranch and all. But Tawnee—May...”

  “I never told May about us and the Earps.”

  The laughter vanished from Desiree’s voice. “Never?”

  “No. Or Travis, either. It didn’t seem right to tell him and not her.”

  “Afraid the tabloids would get wind of it?”

  “Not really. The timing never worked out.”

  Desiree reached for the bag at her side. “Poor May. She probably felt she wasn’t really Bodine material.”

  “She wasn’t. She never wanted to be. But I refused to acknowledge it. She was my first client as a body-guard—and very young at the time. That’s how we met.”

  She never felt a tie to Bodine family, not even her own son. She wanted me to take care of Travis while she took care of her career.

  “Poor Virgil. And poor Travis.”

  “Yeah, well, it was more my fault than hers,” Virgil muttered. “She knew who she was and what she wanted, and she was always honest about it. But she and I wanted different things. We weren’t a good match.”

  “The next time you go wife-shopping, find yourself a local woman who loves the desert, can take of herself and take care of you.”

  “Take care of me?” He was irritated at her assumption. “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  “I didn’t say that, Virgil. But I know some of the family history. Your childhood ended at a very early age. You took care of this ranch, your brothers, your wife’s career and safety and your son and his safety. You were sheriff of this town for years, and you took care of its citizens. No one’s saying you need a baby-sitter. What I’m saying is you need someone strong enough to give you a hand. Someone to help you take care of Travis. To share the burdens. To give you a rest. God knows you deserve one.”

  Maybe I do. Why didn’t anyone else ever think of that? Why didn’t I?

  “I’m surprised you don’t feel a hundred years old some days,” Desiree, said. “No wonder you didn’t tell May your family secret. She wasn’t family to you. She never will be, except through Travis.”

  “I know she loves him. But she didn’t even fight for custody. I couldn’t believe she’d let her son go so easily. I’d do anything for that boy. Anything.”

  Great. Here I am, sobbing on my boss’s shoulder. But Desiree didn’t seem to be offended.

  “Well...your ex has different needs, I guess. Sounds as if she doesn’t have much of a maternal instinct. But I’m sure she’s doing her best. Either that, or she’s all beauty, no brains.”

  “She has both—like you.”

  “You’re a sweet man.” She kept her voice light. “Here,” she said, shoving the bag into his hands. “This is your reward.”

  Virgil opened the bag and unwrapped a brand-new pair of men’s moccasins-loafer-style, with a firm sole on the bottom—lined in finely combed lamb’s wool and made of the softest, finest suede.

  “Put them on,” she urged.

  He pulled off his too-large boots and scratchy uniform socks and slipped his feet, bandages and all, into the shoes. He almost sighed his contentment.

  “They’re great. Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “No, thank you for this.” She gestured toward the flaming sunset. “Nothing like good company and Mother Nature to wash away this job’s ugliness.”

  “Speaking of that...sorry about your car.”

  “It’s not the car that worries me as much as the sick person who could do such a thing. Then I started thinking about Caro, and how she looked after she lost the baby. Some days, life is the pits.”

  He reached for her and gently pulled her against him. “Let’s watch the sunset,” he suggested.

  The turquoise of the sky faded to the colors of the Arizona flag—red, yellow and copper—then dwindled down to a dull purple tinged by a bit of red, leaving just enough light for the ride home. In the distance the stream of bats from the Silver Dollar caves funneled out of the main air shaft and rose into the night, their tornadolike shape dispersing over the desert.

  Desiree lifted her face to his and smiled. “Now, that was a sunset to lift one’s soul. I feel better. You?”

  He looked at her upturned face. He leaned over and kissed her, fully expecting to be in control. He was wrong. As soon as they touched, their kiss became fully shared. There was nothing tentative about her lips on his, nothing passive. Mouths explored leisurely. Her hands cradled his face, while his held her close. For all its intensity, it was a surprisingly comfortable kiss. Oddly—or maybe not—it reminded him of the padded moccasins he wore.

  Moccasin kisses. Oh, yeah, they sure packed a soft but powerful kick.

  The kiss ended. He didn’t know what to say when they pulled apart.

  But the sheriff of Tombstone did.

  “Virgil, I think it’s time you told me about Travis. And about setting fires.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  VIRGIL COULDN’T BELIEVE her question. “I kiss you, and you ask me about Travis?”

  “Actually, we kissed each other, and we have to talk about this arson sometime.”

  “Sometime isn’t now!” He shoved his work boots into the bag and started back down the rocky mound. “You have a strange set of priorities, Sheriff.”

  She followed him down the rocks. “I don’t think so. I’ve waited since the fire for you to bring up his name. That was over a week ago, and not a word. I thought you’d open up to me today at lunch.”

  I wanted to... But how can I concentrate on romance—hell, it feels way past romance—when my son needs me?

  “Now all of a sudden someone’s throwing rocks through windows,” she was saying. At the bottom, they hurried toward the horses. “It’s not Jondell, and i
t wasn’t Jondell who started that fire.”

  Virgil stuffed his boots into his saddlebags and mounted up. Desiree was right behind him on Pearl Drop as they took the trail that would end at the ranch house.

  “I’m no shrink, but trust me, as a criminal prosecutor, I know all about profiling,” she said. “Pyromania has set criteria, and your son fits the profile. Shall I run down the list for you?”

  “Travis is a child! A ten-year-old child.”

  “Who’s traveled all over the world and grown up among adults. He’s extremely intelligent, and he’s bound to have learned a few things. Now, are you ready to listen to those criteria?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “One, deliberate setting of fires on more than one occasion.”

  Travis was always setting fires at the beach, even in the daytime. Even when it wasn’t cold.

  “Two, tension before the act.”

  What kid wouldn’t be tense, having May for a mother and cameras trained on him since the day he was born?

  “Three, fascination with fire-starting materials.”

  Travis carries a lighter, and I didn’t even know it.

  “Four, feeling less tense after starting the fire.”

  I’ve seen that on the beach.

  “Five, fires not set for monetary gain, but to express anger.”

  He didn’t want to leave California, his friends, the beach.... He was furious over my decision.

  “Six, fire setting not accounted for by any other mental illness.”

  His pain erupted. “All right! So Travis might have set the fires. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “No, Virgil, it isn’t. But I have to play devil’s advocate here. Do you think he could have thrown rocks through those windows?”

  “I—” He thought about that. “I don’t know. I’d like to think not. He, uh, he almost got involved with shoplifting back in L.A. Maybe he actually stole things. I don’t know for sure.” I might as well come clean with it. By the time he’d finished filling Desiree in, her expression was one of sympathy.