TRAVIS EARP BODINE watched the pouring rain from his upstairs bedroom. The thunder and lightning were terrible, deafening, wild. He’d never seen anything like it in his whole life. This was an icy onslaught that had the house dogs hiding, Cat crying in Jasentha’s arms and Caro and her rifle guarding the house from some bad man. No one noticed Travis sitting on his bed.
That was a good thing, this time. No one could know he had a gun upstairs. He could feel the lump made by the revolver and the box of bullets hidden under his mattress. Maybe I should put it back. He felt sick inside and jumped off the bed, hurrying over to look out the window.
He saw a stranger running away from the barn complex and out into the rain. It had to be the man who hurt Oscar! Travis knew all the ranch hands by sight, and his eyes were keen. Why wasn’t the stranger being chased? Didn’t his father or uncles see him? Travis remembered his vow to go after the bad guy. So why didn’t he?
Because he was scared.
He remembered how Oscar had cried when Jasentha fixed his tail. Travis almost cried, too. He thought he was so brave. Was his dad right? Was he just a big baby, after all? A little kid who needed a baby-sitter? A boy who had to live in Arizona far away from his mom. Arizona was supposed to be safe. It didn’t feel safe to him.
Travis went back to his bed. He reached under the mattress for the gun. Holding it didn’t make him feel any braver. He sat down on the bed again. Maybe he needed to load the gun to feel brave. He pulled out the box of bullets.
One by one by one. Three times three. Nine bullets. A full round.
Travis checked carefully to see that the safety was on. Then he stared at the gun. Where was he supposed to carry it? He didn’t have a belt and holster, like his father or uncles. He didn’t carry a purse, like Caro. Jasentha didn’t carry a purse, but she wouldn’t touch guns. She didn’t believe in killing.
Whoever hurt Oscar did. If Travis went after that man, he’d need the gun. He decided to carry it in his pocket, like earlier. His surfer Jams were big and baggy. He slipped the gun inside. It was so heavy it pulled one side of his pants lower than the other. He put his hands in his pockets and grasped the gun with his right one. There. That was better. His pants weren’t falling down.
Travis still stalled. He watched the man in the pouring rain run away. He didn’t seem to have a horse or a car. He was just running.
I can run. I can run faster and longer than anyone.
He’d run all the time on the beaches, run with his friends, his bodyguards. He could outrun paparazzi twice his size. His mom was the one who’d shown him how to kick up his knees, bend his elbows. She’d taught him all about hiding from the press. He’d never see his mom again if he didn’t go now. He’d never sleep well again, either.... It was now or never. Now or never.
A crack of lightning made him jump off the bed, knocking over the box of bullets in the process. They spilled onto the throw rug. Travis took in a deep breath, stepped over them and stole down the stairs, avoiding his aunts. He unlocked the side door and stepped out of the house into the fury of the desert storm.
LOZEN CLIFFWALKER WATCHED the rain from her exhusband’s cabin. Her broken bones ached in the dampness; so did her heart. It was on a day like this that her youngest son had run away from home, run away from her and back to Rogelio. He’d never made it, though. Dustin Cliffwalker had died on a rainy highway. Lozen and Rogelio had blamed each other. Jasentha had chosen to stay in Tombstone with Rogelio, leaving Tucson-based Lozen nothing except guilt. Guilt for not being a better mother, guilt for blaming her husband, for leaving him, for abandoning her daughter, Jasentha.
Now she had new guilt to add to that. Guilt for endangering Virgil Bodine and Desiree Hartlan and maybe causing Caro’s miscarriage. Guilt for accepting the Bodines’ and Rogelio’s kindness. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve Rogelio, the only man she would ever love. Too bad she believed in Jesu Cristo’s rules. The Apache’s Changing Woman would have understood if Lozen had followed her impulse to kill herself years ago.
Her whole life was one big quagmire of remorse and shame. She’d tried to make amends at the hospital. Her services as a pediatric surgeon were available gratis to all those unable to pay, especially on the reservations. Virgil had always helped her in the early days, when she was a newlywed—before his parents died and he became the overtaxed young owner of the ranch and guardian of two little boys. He’d helped her even then, whenever he could. Once he’d left the Silver Dollar for the bright lights of Hollywood, she’d continued that volunteer work alone. She’d missed Virgil’s help. She’d often thought he’d make a good doctor, but he’d ended up with too much responsibility—too many people to take care of—at too young an age. It was only natural that he’d want to escape to the adventure of the big city, that he’d fall in love with the first pretty woman he’d met. A bad match, that May and Virgil.
Lozen had chosen to stay in Arizona, to continue her work. Every child she put back together again helped atone for her past sins. Only now her dominant right arm was broken—broken badly, she was told. She might never work in the O.R. again if the bones didn’t start knitting soon. There was no greater penance for the miserable failure that was her life. She couldn’t even bring herself to remarry Rogelio, even though he’d asked her right after her arm was broken.
“Come home, Lozen. I still love you. Let me hold you to my heart.”
She’d refused. Her man deserved better. She could never redeem herself for the loss of their son. She felt like crying. She hadn’t cried since Dustin’s death years and years ago.
If only there was some way to start over.
A sudden movement in the rain caught her eye. Who was that? It wasn’t one of the Bodine men. Her daughter had grown up with them, married one of them. Lozen could identify the brothers, even in this rain, as easily as she could her own flesh and blood. She peered out. Man or woman? Child or adult? The height was too short for a ranch hand, too tall for Cat. In any event, Caro would never allow her daughter outside in a rainstorm with an intruder on the loose.
Lozen strained to focus on the movement and caught a glimpse of bare legs. Travis? It had to be! No one else wore shorts around the ranch except Virgil’s son. Where was he going? What was he doing? Where the hell was his father?
Lozen hesitated, torn between going for the phone and going after the child herself. If—when—she actually reached someone, Travis would be out of sight. She remembered a storm just like this....
Lozen Cliffwalker, daughter of Cliffwalkers, reached for Rogelio’s spare yellow slicker, which was hanging by the door, and awkwardly slung her injured arm through it.
Not this boy. Not this time.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE COMMOTION IN THE BARN was over. All the horses had been tended, Onyx by Virgil and Desiree, the others by Morgan and Wyatt. Virgil wrapped the final dressing around his beloved horse’s leg.
“Onyx seems calm enough,” Desiree observed while Virgil packed up the first aid kit. “Can I stop the twitch?”
“Not yet. You boys mind helping?”
Wyatt and Morgan came over to the stall. “Whaddaya need, Virg?” Morgan asked.
“I want to pack the whole stall full of bales—double high. Leave three small holes for his good legs. I’ll keep the other bent and resting on bales.”
Wyatt and Morgan glanced at each other, then at Virgil. “That just might work,” Wyatt said slowly.
“It will,” Virgil insisted. “If we double-stack ’em through the whole stall, he won’t be able to go up or down on any leg.”
“That’s what I thought you had in mind,” Wyatt said. “Good idea, Virg.”
Virgil tossed the first aid case to Morgan, who was closest. “Desiree, you keep twitching until we get those bales done.”
“Whatever you say, Virg.”
“Hey, I think there’s something going on between Desiree and our Virg,” she heard Wyatt whisper to Morgan. “That’s not bad...”
&nb
sp; “Yeah—he could do a lot worse. The ex never would’ve volunteered to help with a horse,” Morgan whispered. “Or with much of anything else.”
Desiree heard Wyatt reply, “Ray would do her share. She’d take care of him and the boy, instead of always the other way around.”
“You’d think they’d figure it out—Virg and Ray, I mean.”
The two younger brothers each lifted a clean, fresh bale.
“They need a good kick in the pants, those two,” Wyatt grumbled.
“Well, hell, she’s a Hartlan. Tough bunch.”
Desiree let them build up the immobilizing bales around her. She was a Hartlan, true enough. Did she want to become a Bodine, as well?
The idea was tempting. The Bodines were strong, and Virgil was strongest of all. He was also the most vulnerable. All his life, he’d been so busy taking care of everyone else that his own desires and happiness were neglected. He’d married a woman who couldn’t be an equal partner for him or a committed mother to his child. He’d raised two boys who looked on him more as an invincible father figure than a fallible brother.
Desiree knew better. She saw a man who’d given up his dreams for those he loved; a man who hurt for the weak and injured, whether two-legged or four. A man she could respect... A man she could love. A man she did love, dammit. But he had to respect her, too. He couldn’t do that until she’d proved herself as a sheriff. As a woman who didn’t need a man to solve her problems.
I want a man to love me. Not baby me or pad my bank account or be my bodyguard. I want a man to love me.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
She studied the younger brothers, their strength and high morals a reflection of Virgil’s efforts.
A man like that would make one hell of a friend Lover. Soul mate. He’d give, not take. He needs someone who can give back. Someone like me.
At that moment Caro burst into the barn, rifle in her hands. “Travis is missing and Lozen just took off somewhere!” she panted. “I think she went after him.”
“Where’d Travis go?” Virgil immediately asked.
Desiree didn’t like the expression on her sister’s face. “I don’t know, but he’s got a revolver. Virgil, I’m sorry. He must’ve taken my key after I locked up. I found a box of bullets upstairs. Wyatt, calm down!” Caro urged at Wyatt’s sudden start. “I left an armed ranch hand with Jasentha and Cat.”
“Travis went after Oscar’s attacker,” Desiree interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Wyatt asked.
“Travis has been spying on me, on Jondell, on everyone. He wouldn’t leave the house without a good reason—not in this weather!”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Ray,” Wyatt said now.
But Virgil wasn’t listening to anyone except Desiree.
“I’m right,” Desiree insisted. “Travis must have spotted the person who did all this.”
“You don’t know that,” Morgan put in.
“Oh, yes, I do! I feel it in my bones.” I know how you Bodines think, and his mother’s features notwith-standing, this kid’s a Bodine! He’s been raised around guns, and he’s as stubborn and determined as any of you!
“We have to go after them,” Virgil said hoarsely.
Desiree nodded.
“Caro, give me the rifle and take the twitch.” She barked out the orders. “Morgan, you finish up with the bales. Wyatt, grab two bridle sets. Virgil, you’re with me.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow at her tone of authority but obeyed. “No, forget the saddles, we don’t have time,” she said as Wyatt moved toward the tack room. “I’ll take Pearl Drop. Virgil, you’ll need another horse.”
“Take Pride,” Wyatt offered.
“Anyone got a dry gun?” Desiree asked as she gave Pearl Drop the bit. Her revolver was still dripping from its peg, as was the gun in Virgil’s belt.
Morgan shrugged off his slicker and passed it to Desiree. “Caro’s rifle is the driest. She wasn’t out searching like the men. Keep this around it.”
“Use my slicker for yourself,” Caro urged. Wyatt helped her slide hers off while she continued to twitch Onyx.
“Thanks.” Desiree put one raincoat on, then wrapped the other around the rifle. She slung the strap over her shoulder and stood on a bale to mount. First, though, she kicked off her boots. Stripped off her socks. I can’t ride bareback with them.
Virgil took Wyatt’s slicker and mounted Pride with a leg up from Wyatt. The moccasins she’d bought him were wet on his feet.
“Lead the way, Virg. I’ve heard you’re a good tracker. Time to deliver.”
Virgil headed out the open doors, taking Pride at a slow canter through the rain.
“The rest of you, stay here,” Desiree said. “I want a thorough search of this ranch as soon as the rain lets up.”
“Let the men help, Desiree,” Caro pleaded. “At least wait for Jamie. I called him already.”
“There’s no time,” Morgan said. “Go, Desiree! Travis is out there. There isn’t time to wait. I’ll come with you.”
“No.” Desiree felt nothing but impatience as she gathered up the reins. “I’m the sheriff! You’ll follow my orders or I’ll jail you myself, all of you. Let anything happen to Virgil’s horse and I just might do it anyway! Now get the hell out of my way!”
She ignored their shock, their worry, their respect. She ignored everything except the job that had to be done and Virgil Earp Bodine, the man who would help her. The man whose son was missing, maybe in danger.
Sheriff Desiree Hartlan flicked the ends of her reins across the mare’s rump and cantered out into the gloom of the rainy evening. They quickly caught up with Pride and Virgil.
“I’ve got two sets of tracks here!” Virgil had to shout to be heard above the rain’s clatter against the plastic slickers and the puddled rain on the ground.
“Anything else?” Desiree yelled back. “I can’t see a thing in this! Can you?”
She sheltered her eyes from the rain with her free hand. Bareback, she’d normally grasp the horse’s mane with that hand, but the knife of a deranged person had shredded most of Pearl Drop’s.
“No, but it’s definitely Lozen and Travis ahead. The tracks are pretty fresh. We’ll catch up,” he yelled. “Don’t ride alongside me. Back off some in case the two split up.”
“Got it!” Desiree slowed Pearl Drop’s easy canter to a walk. “Where’s the third set? Lozen’s following Travis, but Travis has to be following someone else or he wouldn’t have taken a gun.”
“I know. I’m looking.”
We’d better find another set soon or the rain’s going to wash everything away....
“Look at this! Here, Desiree, you were right.”
She followed his gaze to a third set of tracks leading out from the parking area. “He must’ve been hiding inside one of the truck beds. No one would notice him except someone looking out a second-story window.”
“Someone like Travis.”
Virgil straightened up, brushing water out of his eyes. “How did you figure it out?”
“I just did... Like I knew it was you back at the barn before you showed yourself. Call it courtroom instincts. Guess they work out here, too.”
“I’m glad.”
You and me both.
“They’re headed that way.” Virgil pointed, but Desiree couldn’t tell where he meant The wind kept changing direction; the rain kept flying in her face. Even with bare feet, it was all she could do to keep her seat on an unsaddled horse in sloppy footing.
“Which way?”
“That damn campground. The third set of footprints is headed there. So are Lozen’s and my son’s.”
“It can’t be Jondell.” Could I have been so wrong about him? “Did Jondell park his car out here?”
“I don’t see it-don’t see any strange vehicles. This man, whoever he is, is on foot. Look at these prints!”
Desiree watched Virgil lean even farther down—possible only because Arabian Pride was missing most of his tail,
not his mane, which Virgil could clutch for support.
The footprints were in a somewhat sheltered area of rock and brush. Desiree frowned. “What about them?”
“They’re from another set of sneakers.”
Puzzled, she shook her head. “Jondell doesn’t wear sneakers that I’ve seen. Maybe they’re Lozen’s? They look her size.”
“No, she always wears boots on the ranch. Only Travis wears sneakers. Travis and someone else....”
The lightning flashed, followed by almost instantaneous thunder. Arabian Pride and Pearl Drop skittered on the wet ground, fighting against fear. The riders fought to keep their seats, to keep their mounts from bolting home to the safety of the barn.
Who, Virgil? Who?
LOZEN SLOGGED through the sand, mud and rock that was wet Sonoran soil. She hadn’t had any trouble following Travis—until now. She wondered suddenly if she should discard her yellow rain slicker. A crazed person was running loose in the storm, and yellow was an easy color to target.
She thought of the fiberglass cast on her arm. The cast would stand up to moisture, but Lozen decided to leave the slicker on anyway. She’d be visible to Travis. That was a priority. She didn’t care about her own safety. Next to the child’s life, her own meant nothing.
Now that she could no longer see him, Travis’s trail wasn’t easy to follow. She wasn’t a tracker like her daughter, Jasentha, or Virgil, the most skilled of the Bodines. But she’d come far enough to figure out Travis’s destination. He was heading straight to that damned campground. It’d been an eyesore when Lozen herself was a newlywed. The Bodines had tried to buy the land and raze the campground, but the owner steadfastly refused to sell. So it remained, a collection of dubious occupants on a littered patch of ground.
Lozen knew Catfish was home with Marta in this storm. He had announced that his obligation to the owner was fulfilled. It wasn’t his fault that the unreliable Mac Nielson hadn’t returned from vacation on time. So there’d be no one at the office trailer. It would be locked. No phone available. No one in a position of authority to help a frightened, confused child...with a gun.
She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787) Page 21