Renegade Moon (CupidKey)

by Rigley, Karen E.

  Her English was excellent, her accent melodious. Destiny accepted graciously. Soon she was seated at a large, oak table while Estrella brought out the food. The back door opened and in walked a man right out of a western painting. He was small and wiry, slightly bowlegged, with a seamed and weathered face. His grizzled hair was gray and his drooping moustache matched in color. He doffed his hat and hung it on a peg by the back door.

  “So, Eric George,” he said, his face breaking into a grin. “Now I see why you send Pinto home alone, no? To come with the pretty señorita in the car.”

  “Yes.” Eric smiled down at his plate. “Go wash up and be quiet.”

  With a laugh the man turned down a hallway and disappeared. When he returned, Estrella was placing food on the table. She paused to make introductions. “My husband, Domingo. And this is Destiny Winston, the pretty lady Eric told us about.”

  “Mucho gusto, señorita.” He made a little bow in Destiny’s direction as he took his chair.

  “Eric is our boy,” Estrella said, dipping out bowls of chili and handing them around. “From a scrawny niño with a mop of black hair I helped raise him, as I did the other Montoya children. I feel they are all mine, and they are near the age of our two.”

  “Now, Estrella.” Eric passed a plate a cheese chunks. “Destiny doesn’t need a recitation of Montoya history.”

  Destiny noticed the way his muscles rippled in his bronze arms and how his faded plaid cotton shirt drew tightly across his broad powerful chest.

  “Onions?” he offered, catching her intent gaze.

  She blinked. “No, thanks.” Staring down into her bowl, she hoped her complexion didn’t match the chili. She swallowed a spoonful. The combination of flavors tasted spicy, the meat chunks tender. Destiny smiled at the housekeeper. “Mrs. Garcia, your chili is delicious.”

  “Please call me Estrella.” Waving a tortilla, she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Domingo claims my chili makes him young again. I’m glad you like it, niña.”

  After lunch, Eric escorted Destiny out to her car, walking out into white-hot sun radiating down through the dry desert air. About halfway, he halted and stared at Destiny’s feet.

  “Still no boots?”

  She looked down at her white canvas espadrilles, now turning to what she mentally labeled ‘desert tan.’ “I haven’t had a chance to shop yet.”

  Eric shook his head ruefully, rainbow highlights sparking his black hair. As Destiny glanced up to speak to him, her toe caught a protruding rock. Her soft curves slammed into his solid form as her face pressed tightly against his chest. She could hear the thundering of his heart echoing her own inner turmoil. He caught her close with his powerful arms, his hand at the small of her back shooting electric awareness along her spine. His right hand touched her shoulder, then slid around the column of her throat.

  She leaned her head back to gaze up at him, her lips parting. He bent to capture her mouth with his own, branding her with his kiss as if their souls were melding together to form a greater whole.

  To her disappointment and confusion, the kiss ended as swiftly as it began. She opened her eyes as he raised his head. An impassive mask veiled his features, but he couldn’t camouflage the throbbing pulse in his neck from Destiny’s sensitive fingertips.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Destiny whispered, feeling shaken and abandoned as he released her.

  “Then say nothing.”

  Abruptly Eric spun on his heel and stalked away, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts spinning around him like a dust devil.

  What in the world had inspired him to do such a thing? Of course she was beautiful, but that was no excuse to swoop her up and kiss her. He’d felt almost possessed. Compelled. Why? His hand rose to press the warmth of his shirt pocket and a wave of shock washed over him. Cupid! Fishing out the charm, he glared at it in disbelief. That morning he’d dropped it into his pocket, intending to take it to town and mail it to his cousin Ty in Houston, along with a few death threats about not sending it back, or else. He’d completely forgotten it.

  “Did you make me do that?” he demanded, holding up the pin and watching it sparkle in the sunlight. “I should smash you on a rock!” Quickly he glanced at the house. He didn’t want Estrella or Domingo witnessing not only that kiss, but him scolding a piece of jewelry. Steeped in the Carrington Cupid legend themselves, they would eat this up.

  Striding onto the porch, he opened the screen door just in time to see Domingo’s back disappear into the kitchen. Dammit! He felt like following and yelling at them for peeping and demand they forget everything they saw. But he squelched that impulse, realizing he’d only make the situation worse, burn the rash kiss into their brains with his ranting.

  Changing directions, he entered the study and crossed to the desk, intending to chunk the brooch into the desk drawer. Yet he found himself cradling it in his palm, feeling the familiar warmth as it rested there. Staring at it evoked the memory of that kiss, the feel of Destiny, the scent of her as he’d pressed her slender form against his own body. No! Crazy thoughts. He couldn’t afford to get involved with Destiny now, risk exposing her to danger.

  “You need to stop interfering,” he instructed Cupid. “You’re meddling in affairs you don’t understand. So shut up, stay in the drawer, and leave me alone!” Only then could he force himself to put the brooch in the drawer and close it firmly against any possible magic. No doubt about it, they’d all been saturated in this Cupid family legend far too much. Cupid was only a piece of jewelry. Period.

  Trembling, Destiny climbed into her car and drove back to the rented cabin. There, she sought sanctuary at the computer station she’d rigged. Once into her work, her attention focused completely on the images transferred from her camera.

  One-by-one she clicked on the photos and studied them critically. She paid special attention to those showing the airplane, people, and vehicles. Even with the telephoto lens and enlarging the shots, it had been too far away to get any useful details, such as facial features or the aircraft number. Still, it was obvious that the men, and they were all men, had been loading crates onto the airplane. After enlarging as much as possible without blurring detail, she magnified and studied one shot.

  “The Rampton Corporation logo,” she said aloud. Blinking, she stared again to make sure. No mistake. She could see the logo on two of the crates. She squinted at the airplane, but due to the angle at which it sat, she was unable to make out the registration numbers. Something teased the edge of her mind. One by one she examined the photos again, her eyes finally lighting on the lone photo she’d snapped at the landing strip. Yes. Though seen at a different angle, they were the same mountains she’d stopped to photograph when she’d stumbled upon Will’s shack.

  Quickly she took her map and spread the folded pages out on the small table. Carefully tracing with a fingertip and glancing at the photos, she realized that had she not stopped at Will’s, but continued on, she would have wound around that group of hills and arrived at the airstrip within two or three miles. She’d taken the wrong exit road when she’d left the airstrip. The correct one lay a few dozen yards from that horrible path where she’d found herself and had to back so far down. She shuddered at the memory. The other road passed by Will’s shanty.

  With an odd little shock, she noticed one other detail. Not only Will’s shack, but also the airstrip was located on the Bar-M. Something was going on. And she intended to find out what.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Destiny launched her search for boots. Exploring the area at the dig on foot with Lee the afternoon before, they’d happened upon a rattlesnake. Lee had swept her up and out of danger with a strength that had surprised her, firmly pointing out that had she been alone, boots might have been her only pro
tection from the snake’s fangs.

  With the warning buzz of the rattle ringing in her memory, Destiny headed into Las Nubes on that bright summer morning, admiring a clear and very blue sky. Only in the afternoons did the giant thunderheads build up, reaching thousands of feet into the air, ready to release their sound and fury upon the parched earth. So far, that activity had remained confined to the mountains, much to the disappointment of the locals.

  Las Nubes was gently stirring when Destiny arrived. The town’s rustic buildings offered an old-west atmosphere. The western end of town held condominiums and a few touristy shops, set off by a small adobe church. A few houses dotted the hills surrounding the village. She spotted the Mercantile, parked in front, and wandered inside. Not just a front for show, the Mercantile offered everything from jeans to dressy clothes and footwear, just not on the scale of a large city department store. Still, Destiny was impressed as she strolled over to survey the boot selection.

  “Not these either,” she grumbled, after trying on half a dozen pair. The only ones in her size that felt good were high-heeled dress boots. They wouldn’t do. Not only impractical for walking, they were so pretty it would be a shame to scuff them up among the rocks and cactus. Disappointed, she left the Mercantile and wandered down the sidewalk to a quaint drugstore that offered fountain service, then perched on a stool.

  “Lemonade, please.” Sipping her drink, she turned on her stool to watch a mild commotion.

  A stunning woman unleashed a tirade at a hapless saleslady about the lack of a particular brand of lotion. Even angry, the woman was beautiful. Her lean model’s body topped Destiny by at least four inches. She wore white linen pants and a draped, silken lavender blouse. Her platinum hair fell in smooth waves to her shoulders, complementing flawless alabaster skin and eyes such a deep blue they looked violet.

  “I’m really very sorry,” her victim apologized, flustered. “We really can’t carry a wide variety here. Perhaps a substitute until you can get your brand?”

  The beauty waved a slim hand as though to ward off such an evil suggestion. “Never mind!”

  The lady who had been attempting to help turned quietly and resumed her place behind the cash register. Her opinion of the disgruntled shopper clouded her face. Destiny shared the unspoken opinion.

  Miss Beauty Queen perused a selection of greeting cards, reacting as if each one had something distasteful written upon it. Destiny finished her drink, picked up her canvas shoulder bag and slid off her stool right into a collision with none other than the angry shopper. The woman’s handful of cards scattered onto the floor.

  “Damn! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry.” Feeling like a clumsy child, Destiny stooped to gather up the cards. Their heads collided.

  “Oh, please,” the woman exploded, lifting her arms imploringly. “Someone save me from this person!”

  Destiny stood statue-still, one hand to her bumped head, holding the two cards she’d picked up.

  The woman snatched them away. “Just leave them alone. I’ll pick up the rest.”

  “I’m truly sorry,” Destiny murmured again, hurrying to the register to pay. “Who is that?” she softly asked the lady behind the register.

  “Iris Blake Rampton,” the cashier whispered.

  Destiny’s eyes widened. “Of the Rampton Foundation?”

  Small nod. “Jefferson Rampton owns the condos here and keeps one for his own family’s use. Iris is his daughter. She arrived from Dallas about a week ago. Personally, I . . .”

  Her words faded at Iris’s approach. Destiny grabbed her change and rushed out before she tangled again with the formidable Iris. Back in her car, Destiny decided to drive down to the Trading Post, recalling that Eric had mentioned it as a possible source for boots.

  Though the entrance drive was indeed in the middle of town, the store was down the hill behind the town, quite close to Ranger Creek. The store carried a feeling of age, even older than the little town, with its old-fashioned construction. Destiny passed goat pens out front and came to a deep shady porch, presently occupied by several sitters. They ranged from dusty children to an old man who looked as if he might have been sitting on this porch since it was built. Destiny’s camera hand itched, but she went inside, determined to concentrate on her boot purchase.

  The interior was large, cluttered, dusty, and cloaked in that same ancient feeling she’d sensed when she drove up. Here she found her boots; light brown, high cut, with a walking heel. She’d worn jeans in anticipation, so she kept the boots on and carried her shoes in a bag. As she stepped back out onto the porch, she discovered a new sitter, Mr. Eric George Montoya.

  At the sight of her he rose, smiling, and strode over to her. “What’s in the bag?”

  “City shoes.” She displayed a foot. “See my new boots?”

  “Good. I’m proud of you.”

  She started to her car and he fell into step beside her.

  “Hey, Eric George,” a man called in greeting.

  “Howdy, Tom,” Eric responded, before turning back to Destiny. “Have you been down to the creek yet?”

  “No.” Reaching her car, she dropped the shoes inside.

  “Want to walk down there?”

  By this time, she was totally confused. The last she saw of him he’d kissed her passionately, then stormed away as if he hated her. Now he acted friendly and relaxed. Destiny fussed with her shoulder bag to give herself time to regain her composure. Not wanting to haul the bag along, she stowed it in the car and put her keys in her jeans pocket.

  Vehicles came and went in the dusty parking area but soon they crossed it and started down the road that led to the creek. Obviously, this portion of the creek held water, unlike many other stretches. As they neared the water, foliage increased until grass grew beneath slender cottonwood trees, and desert willows. When they reached the creek bank, Eric scooped up a palmful of water and patted it on Destiny’s T-shirt clad back. She gasped and he laughed.

  “Cold, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, indeed!”

  “Water’s high for summer. Got some rain upstream recently. It adds to the spring flow that feeds the creek.”

  About then a collection of vehicles and merry people on foot came along, shouting and laughing and slamming car doors, headed for the nearby corrals.

  “Tourists,” Eric said. Destiny glanced up at him. “They’re going on a trail ride,” he elaborated, touching her elbow to guide her away from the water’s edge. They found a spot beneath a shady tree and sat down.

  The cowboy guides arrived and shepherded the riders over toward the corral in preparation for their trail ride. “Las Nubes is courting the tourist trade,” Eric said. “It’s growing, but not as fast as some thought it might. It’ll be good for the area, and as long as I can retreat to the Bar-M, I don’t have a complaint.”

  “Why do some people call you Eric George?” Destiny asked, the question popping out of nowhere.

  “It’s my name.”

  “I mean, why not just Eric?”

  He shrugged. He’d developed shrugging to an art form. “I don’t know. That’s my birth name. Eric George. I just borrow the Montoya.”

  “Oh. Your Indian name is Eric George?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m Indian, and that’s my name, so I suppose that’s my Indian name.”

  “Well . . . I mean . . . I thought you might have a real Native American name like Flying Eagle or Running Deer . . .” She dared a peek at him, afraid of the way the conversation was going that he might be offended. Instead he seemed amused.

  “Nothing so exotic. Is Destiny Winston your full name?”

  “My middle name is Marie,” she offered.

  “Destiny Marie Winston,” he tested. “Destiny’s an unusual name.”
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  “I guess our folks like unusual names. My older sister’s name is Dawn Christine. Marie is my mother’s name; Christine is my grandmother’s name. Mother plucked Dawn and Destiny out of some ethereal cloud.” She waved a hand as if to indicate that very cloud, floating somewhere just out of sight.

  “Ah, your mom’s a romantic. Pretty names. Yours and your sister’s both. George is, was, my father’s name. That’s why I’m Eric George.”

  “Montoya,” she added.

  “Borrowed,” he repeated.

  Without planning, without conscious movement, their arms came into contact as they sat beneath the slim tree. Destiny felt sweet liquid lava coursing through her veins. Though she thought she should move away, her arm seemed glued to his skin. She wondered if he felt the same sensation or if he even noticed the slight contact. She dared not look at him to see.

  The trail ride group had launched and she watched them laughing their way over a ridge. A family wandered down by the creek, and a youngster began tossing rocks out into the water. Destiny wondered just how long she and Eric would sit there, frozen together, bound by a small spot on each of their arms. Would they eventually turn to stone and become a tourist attraction?

  Then Eric suddenly got to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. She accepted, feeling the searing separation of their arms, and at the same time, the rough warmth of his large hand as it clasped hers. He held it as they walked back toward the Trading Post in silence.

  “Lunchtime,” he observed as they headed toward the Mustang. “Want to get something in the restaurant?”

  Destiny doubted if she could swallow, but she nodded, wanting to prolong this meeting. They drove back up to the town. Her brain had softened, grown incapable of rational thought. The feelings evoked by Eric’s presence, by the memory of his big hand holding hers, overwhelmed her and she could only allow him to guide her into the restaurant.