Renegade: Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance Novel (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 5)

by Laura Marie Altom

  She grinned. Poor guy. She’d run him ragged.

  Snuggling alongside him on the sofa, she whispered in his ear, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to take your best girl dancing.”

  He opened one eye. With a slow grin playing along his lips, he asked, “How do you know you’re my best girl? I might have plenty of others.”

  That wiseass line earned him a playful swat to his chest.

  What Delilah hadn’t expected was for him to capture her wrist, using it to pull her close enough for a long, lingering kiss. “Sure you want to return to that rowdy scene when we could stay right here and find plenty to keep ourselves occupied?”

  “When you put it that way . . .” She smiled. “Maybe we should stay put?”

  “You wouldn’t have to twist my arm.”

  “There’s only one kinda great problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Since after my ride, my time was best, I’d kind of like to pick up my winnings.”

  He kissed her cheek and jaw and the underside of her chin. “Then we’d better get going.”

  “I promise to make it up to you when we get back.”

  “Deal.” They kissed again and again until it took sheer willpower to force herself away from the scrumptious man.

  After tucking her feet into red cowboy boots and topping her head with a red felt cowgirl hat, Delilah was ready for fun. Never had she felt more secure than walking beneath the grounds’ bright lights with Sawyer’s arm around her waist.

  The night’s crowd was incredible—far larger than normal. Her father would be thrilled with the pile of money they’d make. She hadn’t seen him since the night he’d taken Powder Puff. She’d tried talking to him before leaving Pigeon, but he’d always been surrounded by his yes-men. No doubt the same guys responsible for leading him down the destructive business path that had led to his current troubles. Was he here tonight? As a little girl, and even as a young woman, all she’d ever wanted was for them to share a close relationship—especially, after she’d lost her mom. Delilah knew her father loved her, but she never got the impression that he really knew her. He said and did the right things, but his actions never fully touched her heart the way she’d prayed they would.

  While the last few riders performed in the arena, throngs of attendees mingled around the food trucks and beer garden. A live band played country covers. Right now, Toby Keith’s “Red Solo Cup” had the whole crowd dancing and singing along. White lights strung high in the trees added to the already festive atmosphere.

  “Hey girl,” Delilah’s friend, Stacy, held up her hand for a high five. “Great ride tonight. Too bad I beat you.” She playfully stuck out her tongue and winked.

  Used to the good-natured rivalry, Delilah hugged her friend, warning, “Watch out. I’ll get you next time.”

  “I have no doubt you will.”

  “Sorry,” Sawyer said once Stacy dashed off to kiss her boyfriend.

  “It’s okay.” Delilah shrugged. “When you’re dealing in such close times, anything can and does happen. Considering I’ve only been riding Smoky a few weeks, I’m thrilled with second place.”

  “Good.” He kissed her. “If you’re happy, then so am I.”

  They mingled another hour until it was time for the awards presentation. Delilah couldn’t help but be proud of herself, but she also searched the crowded stands for her father. Of course, he wasn’t there, but she couldn’t let that dampen her pleasure. Who was nearby, cheering her on? Sawyer. It was inconceivable that he’d only been back in her life for a short while, yet she wasn’t sure what she’d do without him. He’d become her world. Probably not healthy, but it was what it was, and she wasn’t letting that get her down, either.

  “Tonight’s top prize for barrel racing with a time of 14.022 is Stacy Geoffrey! Congrats, girl! Come on up here, darlin’, and claim your money!” The stands erupted with cheers, but when Stacy never showed, and the emcee repeated her name. He said, “I’m sure she’s busy with her bull riding boyfriend. Wherever she is, friends, let’s give her another hand for a job well done.”

  More thunderous applause.

  Delilah left the winner’s platform with an uneasy feeling.

  She and Stacy went way back. They’d known each other for years. Stacy loved a big win as much as any of the rest of the girls. Delilah couldn’t imagine what would keep her from claiming her check.

  She crossed the dusty arena floor, scanning thousands of men and women in the stands for Stacy. Where could she be?

  Sawyer met up with her at the arena’s gate. “What happened to your friend?”

  “Great question.”

  He frowned. “Not to be reactionary, but let’s discreetly ask security to look for her. Does she have family? What about the boyfriend the announcer mentioned?”

  “She’s dated Luke Macalister for years. They’re usually together.”

  “Let’s alert security to look for him, too.”

  “I hate this,” she said while they walked. “I’m praying she’s fine. I mean, I’m sure she’s fine. But there’s this niggling voice inside asking what if the worst has happened? What if she’s dead and because she won tonight, everyone thinks I’m to—” She stopped short of finishing the horrible thought aloud.

  “Hey . . .” Sawyer stopped, grabbing her upper arms, forcing her to face him. “Knock it off. I’m sure we’ll find her and Lucky—”

  “Luke.”

  “Whatever his name is, I’m sure they’re holed up in a camper or RV doing what we should be doing—which is not reacting to every little bump in the night, but enjoying ourselves.” He swept the pads of his thumbs over her cheeks, brushing away silent tears.

  “I’m so tired of being afraid. I haven’t cried this much since you joined the Navy.”

  He frowned. “I know, babe. We have to wait it out. This killer will be caught and you and I will . . .”

  “What? Do you really believe someday we’ll have our chance to ride off into the sunset? Or will this cycle continue until I’m the next to be killed?” A sob caught in her throat. Delilah turned into Sawyer, clinging to him, crying against his chest.

  “Shh . . . You’re not going anywhere. As long as there’s breath in my body, you’ll be safe.”

  “Bold words,” Mark said. He strolled up behind them. “Sawyer, I sincerely hope you’re right. Or,” he flashed a wry smile, “at least that the killer suddenly decides he likes boys.”

  “That’s awful.” Delilah landed a slug to Mark’s right side.

  “Ouch.” He feigned hurt. “I was just kidding.”

  “Well, stop. It’s not funny. Do you know if anyone’s found Stacy?”

  Mark shook his head. “We’ve got friends looking everywhere from her camper to her horse trailer. No sign yet. But then no one’s seen Luke, either. Maybe they went out for a nice dinner?”

  “Hope so.”

  “Come on,” Sawyer slipped his arm around her. “Let’s go get that barbecue we’ve been craving. I’ll bet by the time we’re done, they’ll have both been found.”

  Yes, Delilah’s heart whispered, but would they be found alive?

  11

  “SOMEONE GET THESE people out of here!” Adam roared. “This is a crime scene, not a freakin’ photo op!”

  “Don’t look,” Sawyer turned Delilah into him, shielding her from the view of Stacy and Luke. Like Lola, they’d been posed. They sat on a bench just inside the rodeo grounds. To anyone casually strolling by, they might never suspect the truth—that both were dead. Cheeks branded with triple Bs.

  Sawyer and Delilah had been sharing the lasso platter special when screams alerted them to trouble. Three hours later, the scene was still chaos. Police rounded attendees back into the stands where they were in the process of questioning them one by one.

  Rodeo fans who had been released wouldn’t go home and now lingered, taking gruesome selfies of themselves near the victims.

  Adam had flown in from Denver via chopper. Since h
is arrival, a screen had been set up, at least granting the dead their privacy.

  “I don’t understand,” Delilah said. “Why would anyone hurt those two? They were the sweetest couple.”

  “Killer!” A bystander heckled while passing her. “Their deaths are on you, Delilah Bowing.”

  “Ignore him,” Sawyer urged.

  “Spoiled daddy’s girl! If you can’t win, you’ll kill the competition!”

  “Come on.” He sheltered her from more jeers, steering her away from a growing mob.

  “Miss Bowing?” A uniformed officer planted himself in front of her. He was stocky, with a bulldog nose and thick physique to match. After removing his hat, he said, “I’m Sheriff Gordon. I’ve been told that in lieu of your father, you’re the appointed family liaison for Bowing Rodeos, LLC?”

  She gulped before nodding. “Yes, but my father’s in charge. I don’t have anything to do with the day-to-day running.”

  “I appreciate that, but since we’ve been unable to reach Walter Bowing, I need to officially inform you that in light of the serious nature of the crimes plaguing your outfit, you’re officially shut down until such a time as the killer has been found.”

  Head bowed, she said, “I understand and agree. This can’t go on any longer.”

  “Thank you. We’ll clear everyone out of the arena as soon as we’ve finished questioning. A lot of folks have traveled too far to get out on the highways tonight, but we’ll expect the grounds to be clear by noon tomorrow. Deputies will be present to ensure you’ve complied.”

  “Of course.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Thank you, sir. For the record, I think this is a wise decision.”

  “Let’s get back to the RV,” Sawyer said. “There’s nothing we can do here.” It sickened him to find her defeated posture back in place. Her shoulders sagged and her smile had faded. How much more could she be expected to bear? Granted, the victims’ families had it far worse than her, but she’d also suffered an incalculable number of losses—friends, her home, a horse she’d loved like family. Now, she’d also lost the rodeo that had formed her entire world.

  He led her from the blaring lights of TV reporters and gaping passersby. The further they walked from the scene, the more Sawyer wondered what the hell he was doing working this case. He’d begun doubting himself. What would his boss, Harding, have done? Could he have found the killer?

  Nerves on hyperalert, every little noise in the darkness had him on edge.

  How did he protect Delilah against an invisible force? Whoever killed Sandy and Luke had been beyond brazen. He’d performed his craft in full view of what had to have been hundreds of people. Yet none of them had seen anything out of the ordinary? Had they believed the couple to be mannequins? Some sort of YouTube stunt? Sick.

  Safe inside their private cocoon, Sawyer locked the door—not that it offered true protection against an adversary determined to break in.

  Delilah looked exhausted. The night had been warm. She’d started the evening with tight braids that had slipped free from their bands. Her hair now hung limp.

  “You should take a shower,” he said. “You’ll sleep better.”

  “I honestly don’t have the energy.” Even her voice sounded flat.

  “Let me help.” He crossed the short distance to her, scooping her into his arms to carry her to the bathroom. The quarter-round shower had been finished in granite with a rounded Plexiglas front. Multiple showerheads were functional and provided a great massage.

  Sawyer set her on her feet just outside the shower on the mosaic tile floor.

  He pressed his hand high between her shoulder blades while unzipping her dress. He leaned in, kissing the base of her neck. He slid the straps over her arms, dropping the garment in a pool at her feet. She wore a lacy white bra and matching panties. He ached from wanting her, but now was neither the time nor place. Now was about making her comfortable enough to abandon herself to sleep. That was all.

  After removing her bra, he fought his every screaming urge to cup her breasts, suckle her pebbled nipples. He dropped the silky scrap to the floor before hooking his thumbs into the sides of her panties, gently shimmying them down. He wanted so badly to kiss her belly, her inner thighs. Damn the situation they found themselves in. Damn this killer who seemed hell bent on destroying everything Delilah held dear.

  He turned on the spray, adjusting the water temp until it wasn’t too cold or hot, but just the way he remembered her liking it.

  He stripped, then taking her by her hand, led her into the shower, stepping in behind her before closing the door.

  She leaned against the side wall, and inch-by-inch, he washed the day from her precious skin. The dust. The grime. The condemning stares of members of her rodeo family who blamed her for their latest loss. He skimmed the slick bar of rose-scented soap over her shoulders and down her arms. Over her collarbone and chest and breasts. Her belly and back and sweetly rounded ass. When he reached between her legs, she held his hand there, pressing his fingers deeper into the manicured vee of curls.

  “Are you sure?” he had to ask.

  She nodded. “Please . . . I want to feel anything but pain.”

  He knelt before her, tracing his tongue round and round her navel while plunging his middle finger deep inside. With his thumb, he brushed her swollen clit, spurred on by her soft mews. He repeated the process again and again until her body grew limp and then clenched when she cried out in pleasure.

  “I want you inside me,” she begged.

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  “I don’t care. I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone in years. I hope it’s the same with you?”

  “Y-yes.” He’d wanted her for so long, dreamed of this reunion for so long, his mind struggled to process her words. Thankfully, his body knew what to do. Already painfully erect, he lifted her, bracing her against the wall while easing himself inside her.

  She cried out.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no. It’s been a while.” Clasping the back of his head, she drew him in for a long, lingering sweep of their tongues.

  He established a rhythm that soon had his breathing raspy. How long had he ached from wanting her, yet now that he was inside her, the ache began anew. Only this time, he warred with himself not over having let her go, but wanting to forever keep her.

  Sensation took hold, robbing him of all rational thoughts, save for those of her. Burying himself deeper within her. Worshipping her. His every dream began and ended with her. Deeper and deeper he plunged until with one shuttering blow, he exploded inside her. The relief was palpable. Enough to bring tears to his eyes.

  “I love you,” she said after delivering a breathy kiss. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  “I love you. Where else would I possibly want to go?”

  12

  Larkspur Valley, Colorado

  DELILAH SHOULD HAVE been happy to see the ranch that had been in her family for as long as she could remember, gleaming like a mirage in the blazing afternoon sun. Instead, she felt defeat. Trepidation. She used to crave seeing her father; now, she dreaded their reunion.

  “Why won’t you stay with me on the reservation?” Sawyer asked. “Mom’s trailer is empty. In an afternoon, we could clean it and make it comfortable. The res is a tightknit community. No one is coming on or off that land without someone knowing.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I know you mean well, but Daddy has lost just as much as I have—more if you count his pride. I need to stay with him.”

  “Where do I fit into the equation? Because until this killer is found, I’m not leaving you. And you know how he feels about me.”

  Lips pressed tight, she nodded.

  Resting her head back against the truck cab’s headrest, she closed her eyes, wishing herself back in that RV’s shower. Instead, she and Sawyer had been driving for hours. Stopping only to exercise Smoky Joe and feed themselves. For all the time the trip had taken, she now wishe
d they could prolong the inevitable. The police believed stopping the rodeo would stop the killings, but what if they were wrong?

  “I hate putting you in this position,” Sawyer braked at a familiar fork in the road. Left took him to his home. Right led to hers. Though the barren, high-plains landscape wasn’t so different, everything else about the places where they’d grown up were miles apart. “But you have to choose. Even if you want to go to the ranch, you have to tell your father I’m staying.”

  She swallowed hard, but nodded.

  “I will never leave you alone. I made you a promise I fully intend to keep.”

  “I know. And I can’t thank you enough, but—”

  “There’s no arguing the issue. There’s zero room for error. The killer could literally be anyone. The only one I know for a fact you’re safe with is me.”

  She pointed right. “I know. I’ll make my father understand. If he doesn’t . . .” Instead of finishing her sentence, she looked out the window.

  Sawyer had a tough time comprehending how much this decision would cost. Her father hated him to the point that he’d ripped them apart by lying about his own daughter having had an abortion. That’s how deep his hatred for Sawyer and every other Native American ran. His hate wasn’t rational. It wasn’t based on any specific event or even a perceived wrong deed. It was merely a mean streak, a selfish notion intended to raise himself up while grinding others down. It was sick.

  As a kid, Sawyer had felt powerless against the man. Now, he no longer cared. Walter Bowing’s prejudices stood to hurt him far worse than Sawyer or his daughter.

  Sawyer pulled the truck into the wide, circular drive and killed the engine. The rambling, single-level home had been constructed in a boomerang shape, topped by a beige metal roof. A local magazine once ran an article written by the architect who had explained designing it with the express intent of having it vanish into the landscape. He’d almost succeeded, save for the half-dozen outbuildings, pool and tennis court. The front yard was dirt, landscaped with boulders and cacti.