She broke into a run, ducking the sun, fumbling with her sunglasses, muttering imprecations about her evil, lying ways, and ran into a wall.
“Steady there,” a drawling baritone voice said as strong hands grasped her shoulders and held her before she could reel backward. She told herself it was too little sleep and too many concerns that made her slow to react. She had oddest urge to close her eyes and pretend the sensation of this man’s protection was real. Her eyelids fluttered shut, seemingly of their own volition.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” He had a voice like corduroy, soft and rough at the same time.
She opened her eyes and stared at the man-wall she’d run into, the one still holding her upper arms in his firm grasp. Chance. The cowboy in the post office. The man Doreen had invited over to talk with because her mama was going to be at bingo that night.
He was taller than her by several inches, which put him at something over six feet four inches, and built upon strong, lean lines. A man of about forty years of age, he seemed a mix of heritage and cultures—Anglo mixed with Hispanic background, perhaps, or Native American. He was dressed Western style and his eyes were a strange green-hazel flecked with brown and made all the more striking by long, black eyelashes, and jet-black eyebrows set in a deeply tanned, chiseled face with laugh lines radiating from the creases of his eyes.
“Ma’am?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, finally. “I’m fine, yes.”
His eyes roved her face, almost as if he was memorizing her features, but she could read nothing more than a polite concern. She nodded, and he released her, though he kept his hands near her shoulders for another second or two before he slowly lowered them to his sides.
Jeannie knew a momentary pang of regret. No matter how foolish it might have seemed, for the first time in the two long years without David in the world, she’d felt a flicker of safety, as if she were being cared for. It didn’t matter how fleetingly. But, startling her, she’d also felt something else, a stirring of a different kind, that inexplicable tingle of chemistry between a man and a woman.
The man with the tanned face and green eyes smiled and held out one of the large hands that had held her moments before, callused palm upward, long fingers outstretched. “Chance Salazar,” he said.
She almost said, “I know,” as she placed her hand in his. The shock of the contact rippled throughout her body. She had no idea what the expression on her face must have read, but was afraid he knew she was struggling for any words that might diffuse the impact of his touch.
Don’t forget Mama’s at bingo tonight, she thought.
He hitched a shoulder, and his smile edged upward. “Chance is a family name. It was my granddaddy’s rodeo name, now it’s mine.”
Had he read her notebook when it was sitting on the counter in the post office? She flushed, trying to remember what else she’d jotted down. Leeza and Corrie had often kidded her about the notebooks, and she’d always replied that old habits died hard. This old habit might have just met its maker.
But he wasn’t looking at her as if amused at having read her thoughts. “And you are?”
In trouble, she thought, but said, “Jeannie McMunn.” With a Ph.D. in cultural anthropology, twelve years of teaching at George Washington University and a host of publications under her belt, she was generally comfortable under any circumstances. Yet she’d never felt more socially inept in her life as she did at this moment.
She briefly returned the pressure of his hand before retrieving her own. “I’m sorry about slamming into you. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“Looked like you were running from a polecat,” he said and, if anything, his smile increased.
“I just dropped off a letter and wanted it back. I…I forgot to add something.” She couldn’t have said why she felt the need to explain herself. She seldom felt the need. She generally took a logical path, and those didn’t need explaining.
“That’s easy enough. Doreen’ll take care of it for you.”
“Doreen. Yes. Weren’t you in the post office a minute ago?” she asked.
“I was. I saw you in there. And since Doreen’s already said something about your return address being Rancho Milagro, I won’t ask where you’re staying hereabouts.”
She nodded and smiled. “Just as well. You’re both right. I’m one of the owners of it now.”
“And turning it into a children’s home, I hear.”
“I’m trying, anyway.”
“You’re braver than I am, but it’s a good thing you’re trying to do.”
“I hope so,” she said and wished her voice hadn’t sounded so wistful, as if asking him to reassure her. She’d spent the last two years being weak and hating every minute of it. She wasn’t about to slip into that zone again.
“After you fetch your letter, where are you heading? There’s a good little café over there. Annie’s. They make a great cup of coffee.” He gestured across the street, his meaning clear.
She couldn’t help but smile at him, at his friendly invitation and even more engaging grin. Charm, she thought. The man oozed charm and self-confidence. But all the charm in the world wouldn’t make her ready to spend time with a man again. She shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “I’ve some errands.”
“Right,” he said, accepting the tacit rejection with grace. “When I was a kid and we lived out on the ranch, we’d make weekly runs to town and spend most of the day just trying to catch up with ourselves.” He looked as if he might say more, then lifted a finger to the brim of his straw cowboy hat and grinned at her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jeannie McMunn, and I hope to see you around again soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Salazar.”
“Chance.”
“Chance. And I’m sorry again for running into you.”
“I’m not,” he said, and the look in his eyes made her heart give a little jolt. “But you better get in out of this sun before you drop dead from heatstroke.” He reached around her and opened the door of the post office. Ice-cold air billowed into the street, creating a mirage effect that rippled in the air between them.
“Thank you,” she said weakly.
“You’re most welcome. And listen, if you need anything, you just holler, okay? Anyone knows where to find me around here.”
“I will,” she said, stepping beneath his upraised arm, wondering how he could wear a starched cotton long sleeve shirt in this kind of heat, and worse, wondering how he could smell so good when all he smelled like was sunshine and fresh soap.
He let the door swing shut behind her, and she stood for several seconds just inside the post office, gulping in refrigerated air and wishing Doreen the postal clerk wasn’t watching her with such a knowing smile on her pretty little face.
Chapter 2
C hance watched the door of the post office from his table at Annie’s café. Doreen must have been probing for information, for it took more than fifteen minutes for Jeannie McMunn to reappear in the hot sunlight. She looked bemused, he thought, as well she should after spending time with Doreen, but she also wore a faint smile on her lips.
Chance hoped the smile might mean the start of a friendship between the newcomer and Doreen. He knew for a fact that Doreen needed a girlfriend, a person she could be as comfortable with as she was with him. And he suspected Jeannie McMunn needed someone, too. The clues lay in the shadows in her blue eyes, the darker circles beneath them that told of sleepless nights.
The café’s phone rang, and the owner, Annie Davis, called that it was for Chance. “It’s Doreen,” she said, handing the receiver across the crowded countertop.
Resting his elbow between the pies and the fresh rolls, he watched as Jeannie McMunn stepped up into her Jeep and smiled when she leaned into the air-conditioning vents. “What do you need, kiddo?” he asked Doreen.
She gave a swift account of her conversation with Jeannie, ending it with Jeannie’s itinerary for the remainder of the m
orning.
“And I’m supposed to waylay her on these rounds?” he asked and chuckled aloud at Doreen’s resounding affirmative.
“She tell you what the trouble was at the ranch?”
Doreen said no as Chance watched Jeannie put the Jeep into reverse and slowly back out into the street.
“You told her the newspaper office was where?” Chance asked, then laughed aloud when Doreen explained her less than understandable directions. “And I’m supposed to rescue her and steer her in the right direction? Is that your plot?”
He no sooner rang off than he tossed a couple of dollar bills onto the counter, called a goodbye to Annie and was out the door. By cutting down an alley and across an empty lot on the south side of the River Walk, he was standing in front of the old theater before Jeannie McMunn pulled into a spot directly in front of him.
“Now this must be my lucky day,” he drawled as she jumped from the Jeep.
She stopped and eyed him warily. She looked from him to the obviously empty building behind him. “And this, I take it, is not the newspaper office.”
He looked around as if surprised at her question. “Why, no, ma’am. It’s the theater. Not that it’s open anymore. They have one of those multiplex jobs out at the mall. And no one seemed to want to watch the B-string movies small-town theaters are only allowed nowadays.”
She reached for the car door.
“How about something cold to drink?” he asked. When she turned to face him, her mouth ready for a denial, he continued swiftly, “No coffee, but summer errands always run smoother on something cold.”
“You’re fairly persistent, aren’t you, Mr. Salazar?”
“You’ve no idea, Ms. McMunn.”
“I’m sure you have better things to do with your time,” she said.
“No, ma’am, that I don’t.”
She cocked her head at him as if trying to guess his measure. He smiled at her. She shook her head. “What do you do, Mr. Salazar?”
“Chance.”
“What do you do, Chance?”
For half a second, he almost told her the truth. He found he inexplicably wanted to, but the lie was both protection and second nature to him. “Ride the rodeo,” he said. “Broncs mostly.”
“You ride in rodeos?”
He smiled at her phrasing. “Yes, ma’am, I do. But since there doesn’t seem to be a rodeo on at the moment, I’d just as soon buy a pretty lady an iced tea over at Annie’s café.”
She gave him a long, cool look of appraisal then seemed to reach a decision. “All right. On one condition.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “I have to hear it before I agree to it.”
She chuckled, and he felt a twinge inside. “My condition is that you’ll play guide to my errands. I tried following Doreen’s instructions and wound up here, as you can see.”
“You were heading for the newspaper office, I take it?”
She smiled. “That’s right.”
“And then the sheriff’s?”
“The sheriff’s?”
“You asked about it in the post office.”
“Right. The sheriff’s. Yes. Actually, maybe I should go there first and then the newspaper. One might preclude the other.”
“Because the sheriff might be able to solve a problem for you.”
She stiffened. “I—yes. Maybe.”
“Nobody’s been bothering you, have they?” he asked.
She hesitated, clearly torn.
“They have,” he said. “And that’s why you need to talk with Nando.” Instead of questioning her further, which obviously made her uncomfortable, he lifted a hand to her shoulder and gently propelled her so she stood in the opening of her car door. “Hop in, and we’ll head out. It’s only a block or so from here, but at this time of day, in this heat, it’s not a good idea to walk very far.”
She smiled at him. “Especially if you’re not used to it.”
“Especially then,” he agreed. He waited until she’d fastened her seat belt and started her Jeep before shutting her door and walking around to the passenger side. The simple action felt oddly intimate, as if he were protecting her. As he adjusted his seat belt, he couldn’t help noticing Annie and Doreen standing at the end of the alley a block over, watching them and talking animatedly.
And looking to his left and up, he saw Ted Peters standing in the window of the federal marshal’s office watching Doreen and Annie. He shook his head.
“Which way?” Jeannie asked.
“Pull out and go left about a block, to the plaza. The sheriff’s office is in the courthouse.”
“Do you know him well?”
“Nando? Sure. I grew up around here, and it’s a pretty small place. Turn right here and park in the shade of that tree.”
She did as he instructed then hesitated over the key. She wanted to see the sheriff alone, he thought, and didn’t know quite how to tell him. “Better go ahead and turn it off,” he said. “Even though I’ll be right here, cars can overheat in a big hurry in these parts.”
She flashed him a smile filled with such relief, he realized he’d misunderstood her hesitation. She didn’t know him from Adam, and though she’d agreed to let him guide her around Carlsbad that afternoon, she wasn’t ready to leave her new Jeep in a stranger’s possession. Good for her, he thought. A little distrust was a healthy thing.
She lowered the windows before cutting the engine, smiled at him again, took her handbag and soon disappeared into the pueblo-style courthouse.
A little distrust or no, he wished she’d told him what her trouble was. After several glances at the slim notebook lying on the seat, he sighed and picked it up. He flipped the cover over and began reading her notes. By the time he reached his name, he knew a healthy bit about her woes at Rancho Milagro. And cursed himself for not warning her that Nando Gallegos would be about as much help as inviting a fox over for dinner in the henhouse.
Sheriff Fernando Gallegos lay back in his chair like Jabba the Hut sprawled on his mound of cushions in one of the Star Wars movies. The sheriff’s large belly rose above the surface of his desk as an independent land mass, and his fleshy hands played with his ornate belt buckle. He was the antithesis of the man waiting for her in her Jeep and looked nothing like his petite cousin Doreen.
It took Jeannie less than three minutes to seriously question the minds of the voters in Eddy County. In those short minutes, Sheriff Fernando Gallegos dismissed the fence cutting as the work of pranksters and the fires on her prairie as unfortunate results of recent lightning storms. He managed to look a little more concerned about her missing herd of cattle, but told her with thickly accented patronage that they probably just wandered off in search of greener grass.
“We’ve had a drought, you know. What’s that nursery rhyme? ‘Leave ’em alone, and they’ll come home?’ Something like that. You catching my meaning, missy?”
He did make one thing very clear, however. He was not going to launch anything resembling an investigation.
“Sounds to me like you need to hire some ranch hands, missy,” he suggested. He looked at her with sudden speculation that nonetheless seemed coldly calculating. “Tell you what. I know some boys who would be just perfect for you. One of them’s even a cousin. No relation to Doreen. I’ll have them drive on out there and take care of your little problems for you. How’s that sound?”
Jeannie smiled though her heart sank. She couldn’t imagine appreciating anyone this man would recommend. She thought of the cowboy sitting in her car. Could he help? She had the irrational feeling he would know exactly what to do about broken fences, prairie fires and missing cattle.
“It’ll take me a couple of days to round my boys up, but I’ll send them along your way then. How’s that sound?”
She wanted to tell him that, like his other suggestions, it sounded dreadfully lacking in official support. He was the sheriff and the law. The way he called them “my boys” sounded too paternal to her Eastern ears. This wasn’t
the Wild West anymore, was it?
“’Course, you could put an ad in the local paper and see what kind of riffraff you get.” He laughed at the notion.
She stifled the jolt his words gave her. There was no way on earth he could know she had already drafted just such an ad. She thought of the notebook resting on the seat of her Jeep and thought of the cowboy in the same car. Chance.
He continued, “Do you speak Spanish? Most likely all you’d get would be wetbacks who won’t speak a word of English and rob you blind in the process.”
Her dislike of Sheriff Nando Gallegos escalated more than several notches. His prejudice made her stiffen her spine and lift her chin.
“Or you might get a couple of boys who just want to get in good with you, marry-the-boss types. A pretty lady can get kinda itchy way out there by herself. I can think of a couple of lowlifes hereabouts who wouldn’t mind putting in a little time for some big rewards. You get my meaning?”
Jeannie held back a shudder, not so much at his crass suggestion, but at the notion that he would make it at all.
“You’d be much better off taking the boys I send you. You’d have to pay them, of course, but they’d answer to me. Better that way. Besides, you’d be doing me a big favor. My cousin’s living at my sister’s place now, driving her plumb crazy, and she’s ready for him to move out.” He fidgeted with his silver belt buckle, lightly polishing it with his forefinger. “Anything else now?”
Since he wasn’t willing to drive the thirty miles to check out her report, there was little else she could imagine needing from the sheriff, especially the cousin the sheriff’s sister didn’t want around the house. She shook her head and waited as he pushed himself from his sprung chair to walk her to the door.
He held her hand two seconds too long, his beady gaze unsettling. “You’ll be hearing from my boys real soon.”
Cowboy Under Cover Page 2
