Desiree didn’t agree. Lozen’s not a Bodine. She hates the Silver Dollar Because she lost her child here years ago. How can you make someone feel at home when you don’t feel at home yourself? She rose from the bed. “Well, I should clean up, get some dinner and let you rest. Anything else I can do for you before I go?”
Caro hesitated. “Just keep me posted on Virgil. Are you keeping an eye on him?”
Desiree froze, her hand on the doorknob. “Virgil? Yes, I am.” More than you know.
“I don’t want anything to happen to him. Wyatt and Morgan would be devastated. We all would.”
“Same here.” She’d be more than just devastated. She’d be lost. Slowly but surely, Virgil was taking over more of her life than she’d ever thought possible—or wise.
“They’re worried about him—about how much he worries.”
“Caro, we all worry.”
“Not like Virgil. I’m a forensic scientist. You’re a criminal lawyer. We turn ourselves off when we have to. If we brought our problems home with us every night...” Caro shook her head. “Wyatt says Virgil never lets go of his. If he has one weakness, that’s it. He can’t be an effective lawman if his mind’s on other things. And these days, it is.”
Desiree nodded. “Travis is always on his mind.”
“Not just Travis, Ray. You. You’re a big distraction to that man.”
Desiree felt a little shy, a novel feeling for her. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed, unwilling to discuss her attraction to Virgil.
“He’s a good man,” her sister said.
“Listen, Caro, I have a suit filed against me, I’m in danger of losing my license, and unless I figure out who’s committing all these crimes, I may lose this job, as well. Virgil is a divorced man with a troubled son and a camera-hogging ex-wife. And he might be the experienced lawman, but he isn’t having any more success with these cases than I am. Face it, Caro, Virgil and I are hardly a match made in heaven. We have too many problems.”
“Desiree, I’m not talking about problems. I’m talking about people.”
“I’ve got too much to deal with at the moment.” Desiree smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Plus a dog I need to walk. Come on, Oscar.”
She left, ignoring Caro’s exasperated, “Ray...!”
The click of her dog’s nails on the wood floor was some consolation. Desiree tried hard to hold back her gloomy spirits. Discussing her problems with Caro hadn’t made either of them feel better. Walking the dog didn’t help much, either. When she returned to the house, she found Virgil in the dining room. Before him were two slices of untouched pie.
“Are those for anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Travis didn’t eat his. I lost my appetite.” He shoved the plates her way. “Have them both.”
Desiree immediately picked up a fork. She’d missed dinner and didn’t have the energy to go and fix herself something. “Did you talk to Travis?”
“If you want to call it that...”
TRAVIS BODINE CAREFULLY hugged the inner wall that divided the kitchen and the dining room. His temper flared as he listened to his father talk to Desiree.
How could his own dad tattle on him? He thinks I set those fires! Well, he hadn’t.
His dad should have believed him. He would have believed him if Desiree hadn’t stuck her nose in. His own father didn’t trust him. Travis could tell, no matter how carefully Virgil’s questions had been worded. Dad sounded like a reporter. Like when they ask Mom if she’s sleeping with her leading man. Travis knew the nuances of sly accusatory questions; he’d grown up with them from a million and one reporters.
Did your father cheat on your mother? Did your mother cheat on your father? Does he get drunk? Does she do drugs? Do you set fires?
Travis hated the unfairness of those questions and had learned to recognize them very early in life. Right now his chest was tight at the injustice of his own father asking them. Next they’d be wondering if he’d thrown rocks through the store windows. Or written filthy words on Desiree’s car.
Oh, yes, he’d heard about that today, too. People talked. Ranch hands talked, switching to Spanish when they saw a kid with a surfer haircut and Jams hanging around. But California had a Mexican border, just like Arizona. At home, his gardener spoke Spanish. So did the cook, his tutor, the cleaning lady, his pediatrician. His bodyguards knew Spanish, as did his father and many of his neighbors and beach friends. It was required in school. He couldn’t even count the number of Mexican radio stations in Southern California. Travis spoke Spanish with a true Mexican accent—just like the ranch hands he could easily understand.
Bad enough to be dragged to this stupid desert with smelly horses and no beach or pool. But to be accused of the local crime wave? He’d only done one thing wrong—skipping out on that boring classroom. He hated everyone, hated their looks of pity or suspicion. Hated the phony politeness, the saccharine attention—the spying. Thanks to the media, he knew the routine. He’d been spied on his whole life. But never, ever by family.
They’ll be sorry. Travis carefully backed away from the two voices and ducked outside again. He had a plan. I’ll catch whoever’s doing this myself. He’d been around his father enough to know how to watch without seeming to watch, how to hurry without seeming to hurry.
He’d do more than just watch Jondell. He’d tail Ray. She was the only one not fawning over him like a sick puppy. She was busy with her job. She had the kind of concentration his father said only the best bodyguards had—an unswerving alertness that sooner or later would prove invaluable. His dad used to have it, but he’d lost it—and probably blamed him.
Travis silently slipped back inside the family room, where his father had left him. He settled himself on the couch in front of the TV and reached for the remote. I’ll show them. I’m a Bodine, too. I can find the bad guy all on my own. But I’ll need...
His gaze traveled past the boring movie on television to the gun cabinets. There were two of them. The ancient wood-and-glass case had belonged to Great-Grandpa Bodine. It stood to the left of the fireplace, a valued family antique that was now an empty showpiece. To the right was the functional, all-steel, double-locked gun case with bulletproof locks.
This was the Southwest, the desert, where men had always carried guns. Travis, like all the Bodines, had learned to shoot at an early age and he’d been taught gun safety. He’d practiced in L.A.’s private underground shooting ranges with his father and bodyguards.
Travis mentally inventoried the contents of the steel case. He’d seen his father and uncles and Desiree open it lots of times. There were the shotguns, too big for him to use. The kickback would dislocate his shoulder. Next came the rifles, the .22s used mostly for target shooting. Travis mentally discarded the 30 aught 6s, the big-bored rifles for whitetail deer and other large game. Those—like the shotguns—he could barely handle. Even if he’d been bigger, they were too hard to hide.
A handgun would be better. Easy to carry, easy to conceal. Travis bit his bottom lip. The Colts were the official law guns and were used daily. He couldn’t borrow one. It would be missed immediately. The other handgun, Caro’s .22 clip, was pretty much useless. It carried snake shot, miniature shotgun pellets inside a soft bullet, designed to scatter at a short distance. That would kill a rattler in the house, but it wouldn’t stop a man, let alone a dangerous criminal. Scratch the .22.
He thought some more while staring at the TV. What else had he seen inside the cabinet last time it was open? Hmm... Leather holsters. Ammo boxes, of course. Spare magazines. Gun cleaners and wood oilers. Steel wool. And... Travis’s eyes opened wide. Oh, yeah. There was a lovely six-cylinder, 9 mm silver revolver inside—a backup piece, judging by the ankle holster it was in. Probably Morgan’s. Working the caves as a park ranger, he probably didn’t feel the need to carry two guns anymore.
I could sneak out the 9 mm. But first he had to find a key. The Bodine men always carried their keys and slipped them under their pill
ows at night, safe from children. His dad and his uncles had ears like Oscar, so that ruled them out. He’d have to try the aunts. Caro kept her key in her purse and kept that in her room, away from Cat. He had no idea where Desiree had her key. She didn’t use a purse very often, but she carried a briefcase around. Oscar would be a problem, though. He growled whenever anyone messed with her things—but Desiree always walked him after dinner, when Caro gave Cat a bath. So Caro’s key or Desiree’s was up for grabs.
The thought of rummaging through his aunts’ things made him nervous. Almost as nervous as the thought of stealing—no, borrowing—a gun. Maybe he should just forget the whole thing.
A soda commercial came on, showing young kids having fun at the beach. They laughed, splashed, hugged, surfed. Travis’s stomach twisted. His earliest memories were of his mother taking him to the beach, his mother playing in the water with him, building sand castles with him. Before she got really famous and the paparazzi frightened her. He buried his face in the pillows on the couch, the sight of those green Pacific waves bringing tears to his eyes.
He didn’t raise his head for a long time. When he did, the news was on, announcing local weather.
“And we’re in for another hot one tomorrow. Tucson temperatures will be in the high nineties, with similar temperatures in the surrounding towns of...”
Then it occurred to him. Didn’t he have as much right to use a gun as his father did? Wasn’t his middle name Earp?
If he snuck up on this bad guy and caught him in the act and captured him, he’d be able to prove how grown-up he was.
Travis wiped the tears from his eyes. Maybe then I can go home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS TWO WEEKS LATER.
The afternoon clouds rose high and threatening, the purple mushroom heads of Arizona’s monsoon skies warning of rain—and soon. Children didn’t linger while walking home from school. In the outlying pastures, cattle were lying down, following the instincts to make themselves the smallest targets possible in the event of lightning. People in town shut their open windows and brought in their mail and evening papers. Those at home took their clothes off the line. Dogs and cats scurried inside or under porches.
It was no different at the Silver Dollar Ranch. There was a restless feeling in the air that no one liked. Desiree, the last of her shift to leave the sheriff’s office, watched the nervous Arabians’ behavior as she drove to the ranch parking area. The horses on the Silver Dollar weren’t grazing. Instead, they changed positions often, and the foals stayed close to their mothers. The more experienced mares headed straight for the pasture gates that led to the enclosed barns. The ranch dogs had already preceded them. They helped the ranch hands herd the stragglers in.
All over Tombstone, everyone prepared for the storm. Even Jasentha and Morgan had come home, judging by the presence of their truck. Flash flooding could prove dangerous in the caves. Their bad weather routine was to close the park and lock the gates to the cave’s major entrances.
Desiree shut off the ignition, but instead of walking to the house, she leaned her head against the car seat and closed her eyes. Physically, mentally, emotionally, she was exhausted. It was now almost three weeks since her car had been vandalized, and she wasn’t one step closer to solving the crimes than she’d been that day. She wasn’t any closer to understanding Virgil, despite living with a houseful of Bodines.
The ranch house was as chaotic as her life. Lozen was still having problems with her arm and still suffering from guilt; Caro doggedly tried to act cheerful and wasn’t. The men worried about the women, the women worried about the men, and everyone worried about the children. It all meant that the atmosphere inside the ranch house was as unsettled as the sky above.
Travis and Virgil had fought over Travis’s negative attitude about school. Despite Virgil’s insistence, he refused to participate, was tardy and cut classes so often that the school asked Virgil to withdraw him for the sake of the other students. Travis hung around the house, surly and silent.
The worst part was the way everyone tried to pretend things were normal. The three brothers talked about crimes, new and old, solved and unsolved. Jasentha and Lozen talked about babies—when the baby would be born, where the baby was going to stay, what the baby should be named. Every dinner-time, Wyatt, Ben and Rogelio talked about horses and about distributing medical supplies on the reservations. The contradiction between the tensions in the household and the tame, safe conversation that took place there was disorienting, at least to Desiree.
Virgil was acting strange, too. All of a sudden, he was as polite as a shoe clerk over a new sale. His emotional distance bothered her for a lot of reasons. Her own deputy made himself scarce in the cramped Bodine household. Virgil kept his problems to himself, not sharing them with her anymore. Funny how she’d become so used to his company and outspoken opinions. Now he’d turned all his attention to his son.
That’s as it should be. But I miss him. So much for Caro’s skills at observation. Virgil’s “big romance” was just concern for an injured woman. Sure, he’d returned her kisses, but what man wouldn’t? Especially when she’d been so determined, so assertive. No, he’d obviously had second thoughts about pursuing an involvement with her. And she could hardly blame him. She’d left behind a mess at her last job and was in the middle of one now.
Desiree groaned aloud. I can’t handle going inside to face all that. Not yet. She told herself she felt homesick for her Phoenix life. Yeah...that’s it. She missed the privacy and quiet of her own little apartment, where the most noise she endured was the low sound of her radio and Oscar’s occasional snoring. If she’d been there tonight, she would’ve grilled some fish and tossed a fruit salad. She would’ve eaten in peace and watched the evening news and actually heard it. Even her Phoenix courtroom enticed her with memories of its blessedly hushed atmosphere.
Right, Ray. Who are you kidding? I was as lonely at home as I am in this chaotic household. Now, without Virgil’s company, I’m even lonelier. She was cross and out of sorts and could stand a little peace and quiet. Maybe she should sit in her car for a while and listen to Tucson’s classical station.
If she could get it with all those storm clouds.
She fiddled with the radio dials. Country music, rock, top forty, Mexican, all-talk...
She caught the faint tones of Mozart and adjusted the volume, a smile on her lips. Just as she prepared to lean back and close her eyes, someone pounded on her window.
Now what?
It was Travis.
“Ray, Oscar’s hurt!”
“Hurt?” She immediately left her car. “What happened? Where is he?”
“In one of the horse barns! I was playing with the kittens, and I heard him crying. He’s bleeding, but he won’t come out to me.”
She slammed her door. “Show me,” she ordered.
They ran across the open expanse to the barn. In the dim coolness she breathed in the sweetish smell of green alfalfa bales.
“Oscar? Where are you, puppy?”
“Over here.” Travis led the way toward a little hollow between some bales. “I called him, but he just growled at me.”
As Desiree got down on her knees, the floor covering of hay crunched beneath her uniform pants. She saw blood on the hay, stark red on yellow, and crawled toward her dog’s hiding place.
“Come here, Oscar.”
She heard whimpering.
“Come on, boy. Here, sweetie.”
Oscar crawled slowly toward her. His brown nose peeked out from between the bales, then he slowly padded out to stand trembling before her. Bleeding.
Travis gasped. “Someone cut off his tail!”
Desiree swept the shivering dog into her lap. “Just...just tried to.” She could barely get the words out. A gash was visible just inches below the place where his tail started. It was bleeding badly. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Looks like the bone and all is still intact,” she said shakily.
“He’s cu
t on his rump, too!”
There was a long gash on the dog’s hindquarters. Obviously Oscar had put up a good fight.
“Give me your shoelace, Travis.” Her hands gently smoothed the dog’s ears. “In fact, give me both of them. I should muzzle him. It’s okay, Oscar. I’ll hold you, Travis will make a tourniquet, and we’ll fix you up fine.”
She brushed her lips against the dog’s head before applying the makeshift muzzle. Travis tied the other lace above the cut. “A little tighter on his tail,” Desiree said. She untucked the end of her uniform shirt and applied direct pressure against the long gash on his rump. “You’ll be good as new, puppy. Good as new. Travis, do you know how this happened?”
He shook his head, his face as white as hers. “He wasn’t near any barbed wire. I just came in to play with the kittens and I heard him barking, so I came over here and—”
“Oscar was barking?”
“Yeah. Growling, too.”
Her hand dropped from her dog to the gun at her side. She unlatched the leather safety strap that held the weapon in place and kept one hand over it.
“I thought maybe he’d caught a rat or something,” Travis said.
Desiree lowered her voice, cold fear rushing through her veins. She listened to the horses again. They were nervous; was it only from the storm? Oscar wasn’t ordinarily a barker unless there was a strange person around, but that had been back at the apartment.
Still... Better safe than sorry. “Stand up and take Oscar to the house. Now.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No.” She rose to her feet and with one arm lowered her dog into the boy’s arms. “Go to the house and tell the men to get down here. Tell them to come armed.”
Travis’s eyes opened wide. “But...”
She drew her gun. “I’m counting on you to take care of Oscar. Jasentha will help. Don’t stop. Don’t come back. Now run!”
She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787) Page 19