Renegade Moon (CupidKey)

by Rigley, Karen E.

  “Sorry?” he roared. “You’re sorry?” He seized her arms with his big hands, making her flinch nervously.

  “Stop it, Eric!” Martin shouted, shoving at his infuriated brother. “Let her go! Have you gone crazy?”

  Eric released her as though she burned him. “Yes. Yes, I’ve gone crazy.” He turned and stalked away.

  Unhurt, but stunned, Destiny stared after him a moment. Why had he lashed out so violently? Worry? Or something more? Something deeper? Or merely guilt? She started to follow. “Eric?”

  He turned about halfway, holding out a hand as if to ward her off. “Stay away from me. Just leave me alone.” Then he walked on, all three dogs trotting at his heels, and disappeared down the side of the arroyo.

  Had his dark eyes glistened with tears? Anger? Fear? Sadness? Destiny stared after him, her own tears trickling down her face. Martin came to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Oh, Martin,” she sobbed. “I think he was really upset.”

  He urged her gently back to the house. “All the more reason to leave him alone. Eric doesn’t show emotion easily. Except to get mad. I think that’s why he has such a bad temper. It’s the only way he ever lets go.”

  They sat down on the stone steps together, Martin’s arm still encircling her. He handed her a handkerchief.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Pressing the handkerchief to her face, she took several deep breaths and shook her head. “I don’t think Eric would ever hurt me.” Another tear escaped. Martin pulled her head onto his shoulder.

  “No, not deliberately. But he’s so strong. I didn’t want him breaking your arms.”

  “I don’t break easily.” She straightened, but remained in the brotherly comfort of Martin’s embrace. “Martin, please tell me what is, or was, between Eric and Iris. That day on our ride to the water hole, she confronted me and threatened me if I didn’t stay away from him. Is there something between them that gives her the right to do that?”

  Martin remained still for so long that Destiny turned toward him. He was staring out over the moon-drenched countryside, that remote expression on his face. His fingertips rubbed her shoulder gently, thoughtfully.

  “They were engaged about ten years ago,” he finally began, still staring blankly. “Eric joined the army when he got out of high school, and stayed for five years. While he was gone, the Ramptons bought the ranch next to the Double Bar-M. When he came home, he met Iris. She was only twenty-three, and she was as gorgeous as she is now. She fell for Eric; he fell for her. Then in a couple of months, poof. It was over. Eric rejoined the army and Iris got shipped off to Europe.”

  “What happened between them, Martin? Do you know?”

  He gave a slight shake of his head and shrugged. “Ask Eric.”

  “Do you think he still loves her?”

  “Who knows? I don’t think so, but I can’t speak for Eric. Ask him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head and wiped her eyes again. “I just can’t. Not now. Iris thinks he does.”

  “Maybe it’s wishful thinking.”

  “Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.” She got to her feet and Martin stood up beside her.

  “Sugar, I wish I could help you.” He very gently kissed her forehead.

  She needed a bath after being inside that filthy shack. She scrubbed in perfumed water and washed her hair, all the time listening for Eric’s footsteps in the hallway. But they never came. She went to her room, blew out her lamp, and lay down on her bed. They always left their bedroom doors open to catch the breeze. She stared at the darkened doorway, willing Eric’s form to pass by and let her know he was home safe. The idea of that big man out there alone and upset was so heartbreaking she could hardly draw her breath. Faint light from the huge moon illuminated the room just enough to form shadows.

  When she first saw Eric outlined in the doorway, Destiny thought she was dreaming. A breeze, cool and teasingly sweet, puffed across her body, clad only in lacy baby-doll pajamas. The sheet just covered her legs.

  Silently he entered the room and stood staring down at her, his face shadowed and unreadable. She made no move, hardly daring to breathe. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to brush her mouth with his. She responded and the kiss grew and intensified. He had a sensual, gentle, yet firm way of kissing, of moving his mouth on hers and tasting her tongue with his own, that made her blood pulse warm and thick through her body, infusing her with a honey-sweetness that covered her, enveloped her, until the only reality was his mouth, his touch, his pounding heart pressed against her own.

  His lips trailed fire down her neck and lingered against her shoulder as he lay down beside her. Her arms rose up, sought him, drew him closer. She felt his rising desire and his breath hot against the hollow of her throat. He wore only jeans. No shirt, no belt, no shoes. He moved against her and her body arched automatically as her breath caught.

  Again he kissed her mouth and her hands glided over his hard-muscled back. His skin felt like satin. Destiny heard only the thudding of her own heart. His hand slipped under her pajama top and contacted her bare skin. Her breasts peaked in answering passion and her breath came in tiny, silent sobs as he caressed her body with feather-light touches. Would they make love right now, here in the pale shadowed moonlight?

  She needed to stop him. She must stop him. Her hand caught his wrist and at that moment, they heard a faint tinkling crash from the kitchen.

  Eric leaped to his feet. His gaze locked with hers for one heartbeat, then as silently as he entered, he left.

  Destiny rolled onto her back and tried to collect her scattered senses. She pulled the sheet up to her neck and stared at the doorway, wishing desperately that he’d return, yet terrified that he would, wondering what had caused the noise. Possibly someone getting a drink of water in the kitchen. Part of her was grateful, and part wept disconsolately. She honestly couldn’t decide whether or not she was glad for the interruption.

  Turning onto her side, she gazed out the window, sleepless. A zillion stars blazed against black velvet. Eric. Eric George Montoya. His name repeated itself in her mind to the rhythm of her beating heart as she watched the stars wheel in the sky toward morning.

  As soon as dawn touched the east, she started packing her things, pausing when she heard familiar footsteps.

  Eric entered her room, standing just inside the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t think I should stay here anymore.” She resumed packing, concentrating on folding a pair of jeans as if they were royal linens.

  “Because I came to your room last night?”

  “No.”

  “Was it the way I acted when you got home? Babe, I’d never hurt you. I was scared. I’d already found you half-dead once in the desert. I’m sorry. I just lost it.”

  She shook her head. “No, no.” Finally, she met his gaze. “Eric, you’re holding back from me. You don’t trust me. I don’t know what to do about it. It’s best I go away from you for awhile.”

  He stood still a moment, then turned. “Do whatever you want.” He walked out.

  Though not at all what she wanted, she put her face into her hands and cried.

  Several minutes later, Martin came in and sat beside her. “Eric said you’re leaving.”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “Are you sticking around, or going back to Austin?”

  “I can’t leave the area yet. I have a story to finish.”

  “Okay, sugar. I’ll be around awhile myself. You know where I am if you need me.”

  She searched his face. “Help him, Martin. I think he’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” she half-fi
bbed, averting her face. “Just stand by him.”

  “Destiny . . .” A frown creased his brow momentarily. He gazed into her face for a heartbeat, then his expression softened. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Nodding, she gratefully accepted that, wishing she could explain everything but knowing she could not. Not at this time. “Will you help me carry my stuff?”

  “Sure.”

  The dogs jumped up when Destiny and Martin walked out the door. She hadn’t seen Domingo or Estrella, and knowing they’d witnessed the confrontation between her and Eric the night before, she was too embarrassed to seek them out.

  “Please tell the Garcias goodbye for me. I feel like I’d better just go.” She gave him a sad little smile.

  “I understand. So will they. Take care, sugar.”

  After giving all three dogs a pat, she got into her car and drove away. As she passed over the rise, she began to cry. She sobbed aloud, tears flooding her eyes and streaming down her face. Her body shook until she couldn’t steer and still she cried, sobbing on and on, unable to stop. She pulled the car over to regain control.

  An airplane flew overhead and though she had no idea if it was ‘the’ airplane, she almost broke down again. Now that she had all this wonderful proof, she didn’t want to do anything with it. She didn’t want Eric to be involved! She didn’t want it!

  Breathing hard, she pressed her hands to her cheeks as if to hold her face together. Then, clutching her broken emotions with a death grip, she drove to the motel.

  Eric George Montoya was mad, fed up to his teeth with the situation he’d become embroiled in, and he wanted out. Just a favor for a friend. He wouldn’t even get that involved. Sure. The favor got out of hand, causing him to do things and treat people in ways that went completely against his grain. And now, thanks to all this, Destiny was gone.

  Sitting at his desk, he turned Cupid over and over in his hand, always conscious of its warmth, remembering the times he held it in his childhood.

  “Sometimes it was like you spoke to me inside my head,” he murmured. “Promises I couldn’t quite understand. I wish you’d speak to me now. Or am I too old? Too grown up? Too jaded to hear anymore?”

  He laid the charm down on his desk against a small photo of his parents. The Montoyas, that is. He had no photos of his birth parents. In a way he regretted that, but was grateful and proud that not only the Montoyas considered him their son, but Estrella and Domingo as well. And he’d let them all down. Including Destiny.

  You don’t trust me, she’d said. You’re holding back. But what was he supposed to do? How could he tell her? She was a journalist, for crying out loud. Yeah, like he could say, ‘Well there’s this little operation . . .’

  No. No way. There was too much involved. But he must call a halt with Glen. That is, if he could find Glen. He’d searched everywhere all day and no Glen turned up.

  “Hey, little brother, you going to the dance at Wes’s tonight?” Martin asked, popping into the study and breaking in on Eric’s brooding.

  He started to say ‘no’, but realized that Glen might be there. And if Glen wasn’t, then Jard would be. If Eric couldn’t locate Glen, then he’d put a halt to it with Jard.

  “Sí, hermano. I believe I will.”

  “Want to ride with me?”

  “No, thanks. I have to find somebody.”

  “Okay. See you there.” For a moment, Martin remained standing in the doorway, gazing at Eric with a questioning expression.

  “What?” Eric prompted.

  With a small shake of his head, Martin replied, “Nothing. Later.”

  Puzzled, Eric frowned. Did his brother suspect something? Then as he stood, Cupid caught his eye. On impulse, he picked up the charm and dropped it into his pocket. If he found Destiny, no, when he found Destiny, he’d be prepared. He knew now he couldn’t let her go. Without a doubt, he’d fallen hard for her. Her spunk, her sharp mind, her impressive career for one so young, all packaged together into a small bundle of gorgeous dynamite. How had he been so fortunate to have such a woman come into his life? Cupid magic? And how could he not grab her and hold onto her for dear life, no matter the consequences?

  He spotted the Suburban and Jard’s Escalade when he arrived at the Wagon Wheel, but he didn’t see Glen’s Jeep. He also didn’t see a certain midnight blue Mustang. After he finished his little chat with Jard, he planned to locate Destiny and talk to her. He couldn’t let it die this way between them. He couldn’t stand by and allow her to walk out of his life.

  How much did she already know? Probably a lot more than was safe for her. Too inquisitive, too smart. And very likely in danger because of it.

  Eric spotted Jard and Stoker at a table on the patio. “We need to talk,” he said to Jard without greeting. “Now. And alone.”

  Jard and Stoker exchanged looks, standing in unison to follow him out. Eric led them behind the Wagon Wheel between two storage buildings that offered shielding from prying eyes and ears.

  “All right.” Eric faced them. His ‘alone’ hadn’t excluded Stoker. He knew Jard went nowhere without his trusted bodyguard. “Make this shipment tomorrow the last one from Montoya land.”

  “Tut, tut, my friend,” Jard chided. “It is but one in a series. Plans and schedules are already prepared. There will be no changes.”

  “I say there will be. I want out. I don’t want any more to do with it, understand? You’ll have to find yourselves another jumping-off place.”

  “Out of the question. Realize that you’re deeply involved in the operation . . .”

  “Too bad,” Eric interrupted angrily. “If you don’t get off my land and stay off, I’ll make sure you do.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “That’s a promise, Jard. I don’t care what it takes. I want you and your operation off the Bar-M.”

  Jard studied his nails. “Obviously, you fail to realize what little choice you have in the matter. You aren’t the only one to consider, Mr. Montoya. There’s your friend, who incidentally, recruited your assistance in the first place, and there’s a certain young lady, a very snoopy young lady may I add . . .”

  Fury exploded behind Eric’s eyes at the veiled threat to Destiny. He lunged for Jard, catching him with a hard blow to the jaw. Jard staggered and folded. Eric immediately whirled to confront Stoker, who came at him like a tank. They grappled and went down. Eric hit him once, twice, when something stung his shoulder. In seconds, a peculiar warmth spread from that spot to engulf his whole body and leave him staggering drunk. He tried to rise. The ground moved around unreliably and his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on one point for more than three seconds before shifting away.

  Stoker got to his feet and brushed himself off. “You’re fast with that hypo.”

  “Comes in handy,” Jard replied.

  “What’re we gonna to do with him?”

  “Consider this, Stoker. What would happen if an unfortunate accident befell our Mr. Montoya?”

  “What?” Stoker asked obligingly.

  “We could continue our shipping schedule with no interruptions. After all, who’s going to pay attention to an occasional arrival of an airplane at an old dirt strip on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, after the ranch owner has succumbed to the fatal results of an unexpected tragedy?”

  “Yeah, makes sense.”

  “Of course it does. By the time the estate is settled and any new owner comes around, why, our little operation will be completed and we’ll be gone, right?”

  “Right. But what should we do with him?”

  “Take him for a little ride. Did you notice the big thunderstorm brewing? Some of those narrow canyons along the creek turn pretty dangerous when the water rises. A man could drown. Especially one who’s drunk.”

  “Got you, boss. But we’d better g
et going or we might end up there with him.”

  “Wise suggestion, Stoker. Shall we?”

  Between them, they lifted Eric to his feet and started for the Escalade. And though he’d heard every word, Eric realized he was powerless to stop them.

  Destiny carried her things into her rented room and sat listlessly in front of the dresser staring at her puffy and streaked face, her red and swollen eyes. No wonder the clerk had done a double take when she checked in. She went into the bathroom and bathed her face again and again in cool water, then lay down on the bed.

  Never before had she felt this way, so broken and hopeless. She could not deny falling completely, totally and helplessly in love with Eric. Nor could she deny that Eric was involved in smuggling. He bribed Will to store smuggled goods. He probably obtained the Rampton Corporation crates to ship the stuff in. He was good buddies with Glen King, who worked hand-in-hand with Miles Jard and Stoker.

  Iris seemed a petty annoyance compared to gun smuggling. Destiny wished desperately that Iris were the only problem. She could fight another woman, especially since she felt in her heart that Eric didn’t care for Iris, but truly cared for her. Just the thought of him last night made her pulse race. She’d felt his caring. Deep caring. Dare she think love?

  That’s why she lay here now in a trance, her arm across her eyes, trying to blot out the world. But she couldn’t hide forever.

  Wearily she rose, shocked to see it was past seven. She had no choice. She must go to the law with this. But not until she talked with Eric. She’d go to him, force him to talk to her, reveal what she knew. She’d tell him about the thumb drive already mailed to her editor, and that she’d seen guns in Will’s shack and took pictures of them. Maybe he could turn state’s evidence?

  First, a good hot bath. Freshened, she applied mascara and blush, and slicked pink gloss over her lips. Patting drops of perfume behind her ears, she chose her khaki shorts and safari shirt outfit, knowing it flattered her. She must boost her confidence, feeling it vital not only for Eric, but for herself. She needed to appear cool, assured, and in control to act effectively.