He fell in beside the kid, too edgy and wired to hit the sack. He could see the entire motel courtyard from the café. He’d have a beer, draw the kid out, maybe learn a little about the prickly woman who’d just slammed the door in his face.
What he learned about Sydney went down as easily as the beers…at first.
“She’s one of the best,” Zack said sometime later, his slang giving way to a quiet intensity. “We studied her Buccaneers at UCLA. That was one of her first projects for The History Channel. It’s a classic, a superb blending of historical fact and popular lore about the pirates who pillaged the seas. She completely debunked those scumbags’ romantic image without destroying the myths that surround them. The way she fed those black-and-white stills into her color footage…” He shook his head, his face a study in awe and envy. “You ought to see it.”
“I have. I just didn’t know it was hers.”
“She did that one on her own, with only a mini-cam and rented stills.”
“Sounds like she’s come a long way.” Reece swirled his beer, thinking of the woman who’d left Chalo Canyon in disgrace and come back an accomplished, accredited filmmaker. “Now she owns her own studio.”
“Almost owns her own studio,” Zack corrected with a shrug. “She’s put everything she has into it. Everything she had left after her dad’s hospital bills, anyway. She’s got to wrap this project and produce The Weeping Woman of Chalo Canyon as promised or she’ll lose the projected broadcast date, not to mention a chance at another Oscar nomination this cycle. Even worse,” he said morosely, staring down at the amber dregs in his glass, “she’ll sacrifice her dream.”
“What dream?”
The kid tipped him a curious glance. “She didn’t tell you? I’m not surprised. Sydney’s still tight about her father and what this project meant to him. To them both. She’ll do anything to wrap it. Anything.”
The look in the kid’s eyes went from curious to speculative and stayed that way just long enough to plant an ugly little doubt in Reece’s mind. He shoved it out immediately. “Anything” did not include flashing ten-megawatt smiles at the chief engineer to assure access to the dam site…much less seducing him. His insides were still tight with the memory of those hours in the cave, when Zack pushed his chair away from the table.
“I’d better zone out. No doubt Syd will want us all up and on our way to the canyon by dawn.”
Reece didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to inform Sydney’s crew that they wouldn’t be shooting on-site tomorrow. She’d advise them of the change in locale in her own time, her own way.
With a nod to Lula, Zack sauntered out. A few moments later, the generous-hipped waitress plopped down in the vacated chair. A frown creased her broad face.
“What’s this I hear ’bout Sydney’s accident bein’ no accident?”
Beer sloshed over the rim of the glass as Reece shot upright. “How did you hear about that?”
The café’s proprietress waved a plump hand, as if the mechanics of her widespread communications network weren’t important, only its accuracy. “Arlene came into town this morning, looking as shook up as I’ve ever seen her. I made her guzzle some coffee and a piece of pie.” Lula’s head wagged. “That woman’s gonna dry up and blow away if she doesn’t watch herself. I’ve tried to tell her staying skinny as a bag of bones won’t keep Jamie if he’s a mind to stray, but…well…”
With a shrug of her rounded shoulders, she got back to the real meat of the matter. “While Arlene was here, she let drop ’bout Joe Martinez coming out to the ranch and askin’ for alibis.”
Let drop, his left foot! Reece suspected Lula pried the information out of Arlene with the same ruthlessness Torquemada extracted confessions from the victims of the Spanish Inquisition.
The café operator’s brown eyes fixed on Reece. “I’ve known Sebastian Chavez a long time. Both Martha and I had our eye on him before he married that silly piece of fluff who ran off and left him with a baby to raise. He’s hard and he’s proud and he dotes on that boy.”
Reece didn’t mention the fact that the “boy” was now a man, full grown and more than capable of making his own decisions.
“Hard and proud enough to shame the nineteen-year-old girl he didn’t think was good enough for his son into leaving town?” he asked.
“And then some.”
“Hard enough to arrange her death when she came back ten years later and threatened to destroy his family?”
Lula scratched the plastic tablecloth with a short, stubby finger. Her brown eyes were grave when she met Reece’s gaze.
“There’s some ’round here that might think so.”
He leaned forward, his beer glass forgotten. “What about you? What do you think?”
“I think I’ll sleep better now that I’ve had new dead bolts put on the door to Sydney’s unit.” The seriousness in her face eased into a knowing smirk. “Thought you might want to know that, since you seem to have taken such a shine to that woman. What were you two doin’ out at the ruins so long, anyway?”
Sydney had already provided the residents of Chalo Canyon with enough gossip to last a lifetime. Reece wasn’t about to give them more.
“Waiting out the storm.”
Lula’s keen brown eyes roamed his face and the hair Reece hadn’t taken the time to comb.
“If you say so.”
Lifting her bulk from the chair, she dug into her pocket. A room key landed on the table with a little jangle of metal on plastic.
“Henry Three Pines stopped by earlier and asked Martha to move you into Unit Eleven. He seems to think you wanted to stay close to Sydney. Real close. We’ve already moved your gear.”
Reece closed his fist over the key. “Thanks.”
“It connects to Unit Twelve.” Her face deliberately bland, Lula started back to the kitchen. “The door locks on both sides.”
Chapter 11
S queaky clean and feeling almost human after a long, stinging shower, Sydney wrapped herself in one of the Lone Eagle Motel’s skimpy bath towels and tucked the edges tightly around her breasts. Steam filled the tiny bathroom, fogging the glass surfaces. Slowly, her mind drifting, she rubbed a clear space on the mirror, turned on the taps and picked up her toothbrush.
Here, alone in her rented room, with only the quiet of the night outside and the rush of water through the faucets to disturb the silence, the doubts she’d held at bay during the ride into town rose up to haunt her. Maybe she should call it quits. Pack up her crew and her dreams and head back to L.A. while she still could. If Reece’s suspicions proved true, and someone had really engineered that accident on Canyon Rim Road…
A shudder shook her. For a moment her hand trembled so badly Sydney couldn’t trust herself to squirt the toothpaste onto the brush. Her face looked distorted, frightened, in the dew-streaked mirror.
The image disgusted Sydney.
“You tucked your tail between your legs and scuttled away from Chalo Canyon once, girl. You’re not running again.” Her chin came up. “Sebastian Chavez is a tough old buzzard, but you’re tougher.”
A lot tougher. After watching her father die by painful degrees, she could handle anything that either of the Chavez men threw at her.
That fierce advice to herself was still ringing in her ears when she walked into the bedroom a few moments later, wrapped in her towel. Without that infusion of spunk and determination, the faint, almost inaudible snick of the lock on the connecting doors might have sent her terrified into the night. Instead, the tiny sound and an accompanying surreptitious twist of the round door knob fired a surge of fury.
“Bastard,” she hissed, her heart jackhammering under the thin shield of cotton. “You’re not getting in…or out…without a few lumps this time.”
Her bare feet flying over the pea-green shag, Sydney rushed across the room to dig through the equipment piled beside the front door. Battle fever pulsed through her blood as her fist closed around a telescoped tripod.
She swished the heavy stand through the air twice, testing its weight and balance, and was back at the door within seconds. Attack, Sydney remembered from the innumerable John Wayne war movies she’d watched with her father, was always the best defense.
Positioning herself so the door would screen her when it opened, she hefted the tripod in one hand and reached out with another. With a quick twist of the dead bolt, a hard yank on the doorknob, and a vicious swing, Sydney let fly.
“What the…?”
The would-be intruder ducked just in time. The tripod missed his head by inches and crashed into the door frame, gouging out great chunks of the wood. At the impact, shock waves eddied up Sydney’s arm. She had already pulled back for another swing before she recognized the astonished man who shot up a hand and grabbed her weapon.
“Reece!” Outraged and relieved, she screeched at him. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Yeah, well, you’ve just taken a year off my life span.” His narrowed gaze swept her bare flesh. “Maybe two.”
Releasing her grip on the tripod, she snatched at the towel that had worked loose in the near melee.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, quivering with indignation.
“I was testing the locks between our rooms.” He hefted the tripod, eyeing it with a scowl. “Care to tell me what in blue blazes you intended to accomplish with this?”
“I intended to bash your head in. I’ll do it, too, if you ever scare me like that again.”
“I thought you were in the bathroom,” he said shortly, obviously as pumped by the near miss as she was.
“I was.” Frowning, she caught a glimpse of the clothing hung neatly in the room’s small closet. “I thought this unit was empty.”
“I just moved in.”
Sydney’s gaze whipped back to his. He’d moved in next to her? Only a connecting door away? The implications sent a wave of heat through her body. Did he think that she wanted to pick up where they’d left off this afternoon? More to the point, did she?
“I’m a light sleeper,” he said, cutting into her chaotic thoughts. “I thought you might want someone close at hand in case you get any more unwanted visitors.”
“Oh.”
The idea of Reece bedding down right next door, only a few feet away, rattled her all the way down to her toes. Almost as much as the idea that he’d switched rooms to keep watch over her.
She’d been on her own for so long, been strong for herself and her father for so long, that Sydney couldn’t decide how to respond to Reece’s unexpected protective streak. Not that she trusted herself to say anything coherent at this moment.
It had just sunk in that he wasn’t wearing much more than she was.
Bare-chested, barefoot, his jeans slung low on his hips, he radiated even more of the potent masculinity that had melted her bones in the cave. Remembering the way she’d fallen all over him only a few hours ago, Sydney flushed.
“Reece, about what happened at the ruins…”
“When you came apart in my arms, you mean?”
Her flush deepened. “As I recall, we both did a little coming apart.”
“So we did.”
“But I don’t… You don’t…”
He let her stumble for a moment or two before he asked with a curious bite to his voice, “Is this another one of your attempts to reassure me that you have no intention of falling for me?”
“Something like that.”
“Save the speech, Sydney.” He stepped through the opened doorway, his eyes dark behind his black lashes. “What happened this afternoon confused the heck out of me, too, but I’m not making any promises.”
Under the thin cotton towel, her heart did a number on her ribs. She held her breath as he lifted a hand to tip her face to his.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” he said gruffly, “but I’m willing to explore the possibilities.”
“You understand the risk? The last time I got involved with a man in Chalo Canyon, the whole town got involved with me.”
Her attempt at humor went wide of the mark. Reece didn’t crack a smile.
“I told you, I’m not Jamie Chavez.”
“I do believe you mentioned that already.”
“I want to make sure we’re clear on that point.”
“We are,” she breathed. “Very clear.”
Bound and blindfolded, Sydney couldn’t confuse this man with Jamie or anyone else. His scent, his touch, the unconscious air of authority he carried like a second shadow set him apart.
“And this isn’t ten years ago,” he told her fiercely. “You’re not alone in this.”
“In what, Reece?”
He stared down at her, his rugged features set. “Damned if I know.”
The muttered reply formed a tight band around Sydney’s chest. To tell the truth, she had no idea where the sparks that sizzled under her skin every time he touched her would lead them, either. Feeling slightly overwhelmed by all that had happened between them in such a short time, she tried for a smile.
“Let’s just take it a day at a time.”
Reece didn’t answer for a moment. He couldn’t. His entire body had gone hard at the thought of tumbling her back on the chenille spread, kissing that full mouth and taut body until they both shot to the stars again.
The purple shadows under her eyes put the brakes on his rampaging need. She’d gotten up before dawn, he remembered. He remembered, too, how she’d fallen asleep in his arms during the storm.
“One day at a time,” he echoed slowly. “Starting tomorrow.”
“Starting tomorrow,” she agreed, coming up on tiptoe to seal the bargain with a brush of her lips against his. He shuddered at the featherlight touch.
“Reece…?”
“Don’t worry,” he half groaned, then managed a grin. “I’m a man of my word. We’ll take this slow.”
Even if it killed him.
He shut the door between their rooms a moment later, wondering just what in God’s name they were starting…and how they’d finish.
Reece woke well before dawn, driven by the realization that this day would see the start of more than a hazy, yet-to-be-defined relationship with Sydney Scott.
The repair project he’d sweated over for more than ten months was about to enter its most critical phase. The contractor and his crew would begin placing the small, densely packed charges this morning. If all went as planned, the weakened quadrant of the inner wall would be exposed by afternoon. For the first time, Reece would see the stress fractures with his own eyes.
He showered and slathered on shaving cream, listening for sounds that would indicate Sydney was awake. Briefly he toyed with the idea of going down to the café for coffee. He could bring some back for her. Serve it to her in bed. Join her under the covers for a few minutes.
Yeah, right. As if he could climb in and out of bed with her in less than an hour or two. Or three.
Or ever.
The razor slipped down his chin, taking a patch of skin with it.
“Ouch!”
Grabbing a wad of toilet tissue, Reece dabbed at the cut. The thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. He walked out into the sharp, predawn chill sometime later sporting a crusted bit of toilet paper on his chin.
Henry Three Pines drove up in his rickety pickup while the dam crew was still assembling. His eyes were almost lost under wrinkled folds of lid, but Reece trusted the man’s eyesight and instinct.
“You’ll stay with her?”
“She is my friend and the daughter of my friend. I will stay with her.”
Reece threw a quick glance at the door to Unit Twelve. “I’ll get back as soon as I can tonight. We’ll be blasting today, so it may be late,” he warned.
“I will stay with her.”
The Hopi headman was in the café when Sydney strolled out of her room an hour later, her arms filled with a load of equipment. She spotted him through the brightly lit glass, dumped her load in the van and join
ed him for a quick cup of coffee.
“What do we shoot today?” he asked when she’d settled beside him with a steaming mug.
“Local interviews. I want to get a feel for the people who now inhabit the land of the Ancient Ones. Hopefully I’ll also get them talking about the Weeping Woman.” She aimed a smile at the woman busy wiping down the counter. “I’ll tape Lula and Martha when we get back this evening, after the supper rush.”
Henry’s wrinkled face folded into a smile. “They would never forgive you if you did not include them in this film you make.”
“I know.”
Sighing, Sydney sipped her coffee. She’d conducted hundreds of interviews over the years. The hardest ones were with friends and acquaintances.
Good documentarians constructed an invisible wall between their crews and the subjects. The really good ones maintained that wall throughout the entire interview process. The object was to avoid influencing the subjects’ behavior or nudging them too hard down the paths you hoped they would go.
That could get a little difficult when said subjects had known you all your life.
“I also want to interview Mrs. Brent. Does she still have her ‘visions’?”
“Whenever the moon is full.”
Henry’s own culture was too steeped in spiritualism and kachinas to ridicule the woman half the town referred to as Crazy Lady Brent. The eccentric recluse had terrified and totally intrigued the wide-eyed, nine-year-old Sydney the first time they’d come face-to-face during one of Mrs. Brent’s lonely walks across the mesa. If anyone could produce the eerie feel Sydney wanted for her film, the gray-haired widow could. The trick would be to get her to recount some of the tales about the Weeping Woman of Chalo Canyon in front of a camera.
“I’ve got Buck Sanders and Joe Smallwood lined up this morning,” she told Henry, referring to two local ranchers. “Mrs. Brent said we could come out to her place after lunch. I’ll shoot the supper crowd at the café before we set up for Lula and Martha.”
“We’ll be busy,” Henry commented with a smile.
“We will.”
A Man of His Word Page 13