Obsessed by Wildfire

by Autumn Jordon

  "Nah, I was home last night soakin’ my feet. Saturday night is my night out."

  Warner's brow creased. “You don't know me, Laurie.” He'd glanced at her name tag. “How did you know I—"

  "Ray-Ray over there.” She pointed toward the guy wearing a cowboy hat that seemed a bit too large for him. In fact, his ears stopped the Stetson from slipping down over his eyes. Ray-Ray sat at the bar, leaning forward, apparently very interested in the young waitress behind the counter. “He was telling us about the Yankee who'd finally gotten Issy out onto the dance floor. And then damn, if you didn't walk through the door. So how'd you do it?"

  Angel hadn't been pulling his leg about Isobel. “She doesn't dance, ever?"

  "Never. Seems the girl's got a phobia about men."

  Warner took the bill from her and laid it beside his plate. “Sure we're talking about the same woman? Because the one I'm talking about is a wild cat. She was chasing down some guy to whip him when I met her."

  "Whip? That girl.” Laurie's hearty laugh filled the cafe'. “Oh, Issy will stand up to any man. Probably take him down too, but when it comes to letting him close it hasn't happened. Until last night."

  Despite the short-order cook calling “Order's Up,” Laurie remained by his side. She apparently wanted to fill him in on Isobel's psyche. He had time and more than a bit of interest. “Why not?"

  Leaning in, she lowered her voice. “Between us, I think it has to do with her pa."

  Warner's neck hairs bristled. He set his fork down. “She was abused?"

  "Nah, nothing like that. Issy is Rio's pride and joy. It's just that everything in that household went his way or it didn't go."

  "Ah, I see."

  "A real dictator. The only one to stand up to him was her mama's mother. Coco was a real tough lady."

  Isobel might not want to hear it, but he saw a bit of her father and grandmother in her. “So tell me. If I wanted to find Isobel, where would I look?"

  Laurie snapped her bubble gum and smiled. “She could be at her daddy's place. Trinidad's Garage. The only garage in town. It's on Main Street, out toward the interstate.” She ducked and glanced out the window below the shade. “Issy does the books for him. Or—"

  The cow bell clanked over Cafe's main door.

  Laurie nodded for him to turn around.

  "Morning, ladies. Someone here called for a cab?"

  The voice, authoritative and sexy breathless, made Warner's blood rush.

  Laurie grabbed the coffee pot. “Or, you could call a cab.” She winked and rushed off as the cook called her name and pounded the order-up bell. “Morning, Issy."

  "Morning. Who phoned for a ride?"

  Ray-Ray snickered, hunkering over his coffee.

  "Damn it, Ray-Ray, was it you? Why are you wastin’ my time? I cut Lizzy's workout short to rush over here."

  "It wasn't me.” Red-faced, Ray-Ray raised his hands.

  Last night Warner told Isobel she'd have to find him, if she was interested. But Isobel was a strong-willed woman. He knew that much about her already. She needed a little help in the right direction. Apparently, her friends thought so too.

  The chair legs scraped the planked floor as he pushed off.

  "That would be me. I called for a cab,” he said, taking the blame for Ray-Ray.

  Isobel turned and her jaw dropped. Immediately her cheeks turned as red as the bandanna tied loosely around her neck.

  He fished his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, found a twenty, scooped up his cap and the bill from the table and handed the money and check to Laurie. “Great breakfast. Keep the change and thanks for the information."

  He grinned at Isobel as he positioned his baseball cap on his head. “Should we?"

  Her eyes flashed from beneath the brim of her cowboy hat.

  His grin faded.

  "You don't need a cab?” She turned, shoved the door wide and stalked outside.

  Warner shrugged, grabbed his sunglasses from where they hung on the open v of his shirt and slid them on.

  "Her daddy takes the cabbie calls. Just so you know.” Grinning, Laurie snapped her gum.

  "Thanks.” He hurried out into the bright sunlight, the bell clanking behind him, and followed closely on Isobel's worn boot heels.

  It was hot, near eighty-five at nine a.m. and Warner was getting hotter by the second, watching the way Isobel's shapely bottom moved in her faded jeans. “I do need a cab."

  She spun around and stabbed a pointed nail into his chest at his breast bone.

  "Ouch.” He stepped back and rubbed his torso. “Watch it. Those nails could be considered lethal."

  "Look, I don't have time to waste, fendin’ off a yahoo Yankee who thinks I need a roll in the hay and he'd be the right man to set my world humming."

  Warner was memorized by the sparks in her darker-than-charred-timber eyes. He'd never seen such amazing embers. Fire was his life. He was made to find out what caused its heat, and he decided right then he couldn't give up until he knew what caused the blaze in Isobel.

  The material of her henley, buttons opened, stretched across her breasts and rose and fell in rapid movements.

  "Well, I can see I was right,” she exclaimed, after he hadn't responded.

  She headed toward a purple car which had “Cab” scrawled across the side.

  Warner, realizing he'd been lost studying her curves, snapped out of the trance and grabbed her arm. Surprised by the determination he felt in the muscles beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, he yanked her back and spun her around to face him.

  "What the hell?” Isobel kicked up dust as she got her footing.

  Warner stood legs apart, hiking boots firmly planted.

  The sight of the Yankee looming over her, his muscular forearms crossed across his broad chest, his jaw working, set Isobel back a step. She couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but she knew they were probably the same stormy blue she remembered from last night, challenging her.

  "What do you want?"

  "I have a few words to say to you."

  "Then say ‘em."

  "You're really full of yourself, lady. If you'll recall, I told you two things last night. First, I'm here on important business. And second, if you want more of what went on between us then you're going to have to find me."

  "Then why did you call me?"

  "I didn't."

  Her eyes darted toward the restaurant behind him. A blue gingham curtain dropped back into place. Heat crawled up her neck. Damn. Just as she'd feared. The biggest gossips in the whole damn town were watching and talking about what happened between her and Warner last night at the Blue Bug and what was going on between them now. Mentally she scratched Chicky's name from her hit list and substituted Ray-Ray's.

  "When I called for the cab a man answered. I guess he was the dispatcher or owner. I didn't know you worked for the cab company. I thought you worked for—” Warner's lips sealed and he shifted his stance.

  "You thought I worked for who?"

  "I thought you had something to do with horses and the rodeo."

  "I do,” she retorted. “I'm a barrel racer, and I am the cab company."

  "Oh. I see. Well, if you don't feel comfortable servicing me, I guess I can go back inside and ask one of the locals for a ride. Maybe that Ray-Ray guy."

  She knew he used the word servicing to needle her. She'd be damn if he was going to get her riled in front of the whole damn town. “No. Mr. Keyson, I have no problem servicing you. Let's go."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  Isobel's fingers prickled as the blood drained from them. She clutched the lower part of the steering wheel, waiting for the Yankee. Warner had said he'd be right back. That was five minutes ago.

  Where did he go? Maybe he was testing her? Did he want to see if she'd run while he was out of sight? Fat chance. She wasn't going to back down from his challenge, no matter how skittish he made her.

  She checked her
watch.

  The cab's back door lurched opened.

  Isobel twisted around to look over the seat.

  "Sorry, I forgot my cooler inside the cafe.” Warner leaned into the backseat, dropped a small thermo bag and what looked to be a toolbox onto the back floor. Then, instead of climbing in, he pushed the door closed.

  "Oh, no.” She waggled a finger as the passenger front door opened and he jumped inside. He had a gun tucked into his belt. “Whoa. Why do you have a gun?"

  "Relax. I'm licensed."

  "Licensed? That's supposed to make me feel safe? Get in the back. No one sits up front with me."

  "Are you afraid I'll tell you how to drive?” He slammed the door with a definite I'm-not-going-anywhere thud and adjusted the position of his gun.

  "No. No one tells me how to do anything."

  "Good, because I'm not looking to. Let's go."

  "This is a cab.” She slapped the flag down. The meter registered and a tick, tick, tick echoed.

  "A purple one. Why purple?"

  "I hate yellow.” Her irritation for the man gnawed at her patience, making her blood simmer. “Don't change the subject. This is a cab. Passengers ride in the back."

  "I get carsick riding in the back.” He snapped the seatbelt into the latch and ran his thumb along the shoulder strap which crossed his broad chest.

  "You do not. You're making that up."

  His brow peeked above his sunglasses. “Do you really want to find out? I just had fried eggs, hash browns and steak."

  Isobel's jaw tightened. She didn't believe him, but on the slim chance he was telling her the truth, she didn't have days to spend cleaning up after him.

  She should tell him to take a hike, but the vet had just diagnosed her quarter horse, Lizzy, as going blind in the left eye. She needed the money, for Lizzy's vet bill, for the colt, and then there was the house. The list of bills seemed to go on forever.

  She plopped her Stetson onto the seat between them.

  "You are so—” Her teeth ground. She jammed the car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

  "What? Cute. I know that.” He sat forward, feet planted on the floorboard, one arm rested on the edge of the open window.

  She glanced at his profile and her eyes strayed to that damn cute lock curling under his ear. She had a mind to cut it off, just so it wouldn't distract her.

  Isobel changed gears and the cab lurched forward. Warner knew how to get under her skin, in more ways than one. He was bossy. She didn't care for overbearing men. She wasn't partial to wimps either, but a man that tried to control her, tell her what to do and when to do it, wouldn't ever share her bed.

  The fact she'd spent last night tossing and turning while thinking about this Yankee hog-tied her gut. She mulled time and again how turned-on he'd gotten her on the dance floor, right where anyone could have seen. Afterward, he'd had the nerve to walk away from her as if she meant nothing.

  Furious and as horny as a mare in heat locked in a stall, she couldn't get home quick enough to take a cold shower.

  It hadn't helped.

  The icing on the cupcake was she'd lain in bed, sleepless, wondering how to find him. She thought about dialing The Corral's number to see if he had a room at the hotel, but she hadn't. She'd vowed a long time ago she'd never run after a man, bend to him, the way her mother had with her father. No man would ever make her give up on her dreams.

  Isobel glanced at Warner. He was the hottest Yankee to breach Wayback's boundaries in a long time.

  She stretched her fingers one at a time over the steering wheel. Damn. Why was she so damn happy to see him?

  Isobel pulled up to a stop sign. “Where we heading?"

  "Do you know the Parkinson's place?"

  "The one that burned down three days ago?"

  "That will be our first stop."

  "First stop?"

  He nodded. “You'll have to wait while I look around and take care of some business. If there is time, we'll head—"

  "How long do you expect me to drive you around?"

  "As long as it takes. This is a cab and the meter is running."

  She whipped the wheel to the right and stomped on the gas, causing Warner to grab for the dash. On the other side of the intersection, she curbed the car, screeching to a halt a few inches behind a pickup truck.

  She jammed the car into park and glared at him. “Do you know how much this ride is going to cost you?"

  "I figured a couple hundred."

  "At least."

  "It's worth it. I'd waste hours looking for the burn sites I have to inspect. There's not exactly a street sign at every cow path."

  "I thought the county sheriff inspected the sites already. Why are you inspecting them?"

  "I can't say, other than the sheriff asked me to."

  Isobel chewed her lip. His musky cologne swirled inside the cab which grew hotter not only from the sun but also from Warner's presence. Could she stand being with him all day and not touch him?

  Yes. As long as she remembered he'd made her madder than a poked-at rattler.

  If the man had money to throw away, she'd gladly be the one to take it from him. She might not have time to work Lizzy again today, but the fare earned from the Yankee would just about cover Lizzy's vet bill. Yet—

  She picked up the CB mic. “Rio."

  Warner whipped his glasses off. “What are you doing?"

  "You didn't say anything about being gone for the day. How do I know you're not a sex offender, looking to get me out of town and have your way with me? Rio."

  He chuckled. She was rounding up a lynch mob. “You've got to be joking?"

  "Am I? Did you forget you attacked me last night?"

  "I didn't attack you."

  "Really. Take a look at this.” She hooked her finger through the bandana and tugged it down, exposing an inviting length of her neck.

  Seeing the quarter size hickey mark he'd left while nuzzling her neck, Warner sat back. “You didn't exactly complain last night. In fact, I think you purred."

  Isobel's bronze skin flushed. “In your dreams, Yankee."

  He chuckled. “Yankee?"

  "You're a stranger and you're carrying a gun."

  "It's for our protection."

  "Yeah, right. If you want me to drive you out into the desert, I need to know what kind of business you have at the Parkinson's ranch? Otherwise you can wait for Rio to finish up fixing Malcolm Turner's tractor so he can drive you."

  She was being cautious. Smart lady. He unlatched the seatbelt, shifted in his sit and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open.

  "A badge?” Her almond-shaped eyes rounded. “Who are you?"

  "I'm a state fire marshal. The county sheriff called me in to investigate the Parkinson fire. He feels it's connected to several others that have been set in the past few weeks. I need to look over the sites. And it would be much quicker if you'd drive me to them."

  "Mrs. Parkinson was a friend of my grandmamma. She's a nice lady.” Isobel visibly shivered. “Does the sheriff really think someone set them?"

  He nodded. “Apparently."

  "We all thought the fires would stop once Owen and Thad were locked up."

  "I understand they set some fires as a land takeover scheme."

  "Yes."

  "I'm afraid they inspired a fire bug. A dangerous one.” He stuffed his wallet back into his pocket and secured his seat belt again. “If you don't mind, I'd like to get started."

  "I have to be back here by four."

  "Four is good."

  "All right.” She nodded and keyed the mic. “Rio."

  "Yeah, Issy.” The male voice at the other end was definitely of Spanish origin.

  "I picked up the fare. I'm going to be gone for a couple of hours."

  "Where're you headin'?"

  "Out to the Parkinson place."

  "For what?"

  "Important business is all I can tell you right now. I'll check in every thirty."

/>   "Got it."

  Isobel pushed the mike into its holder, checked her side mirror and eased out onto the street. She turned right on Main Street and headed out of town.

  Warner settled back onto the seat. “I'm sorry about the hickey."

  "Forget it."

  "You did purr."

  "Forget it."

  He saw the slight lift at the corner of her mouth and chuckled. Her dark eyes shot a warning his way.

  Isobel was a tough cookie. One he wanted to eat until she screamed for mercy. Mercy. He never thought of naming his dick, but Mercy sounded like a good name.

  As the town of Wayback disappeared behind them, he imaged how Isobel would taste. Sweet, but with enough fire to suck the breath out of him.

  Warner felt his interest rise. He shifted on the seat readjusting the seatbelt crossing his lap to give himself a little room.

  Silence reigned between them for miles. He glanced at Isobel. Her gaze was fixed ahead, watching the straight stretch of highway. There wasn't a car to be seen. Her hands gripped the wheel at the eleven and three position, and her breasts moved slightly. He longed to cup their fleshy firmness in his hand. Feel her nipple react to his touch. How rigid would it become if he sucked—

  Warner shook the thought from his mind and again shifted on the seat. Forget about screwing her. He wasn't going to be here long. A few weeks at the most. Isobel wasn't a ships-in-the-night kind of lady, but there was no reason why they couldn't be friendly. He liked her. “So, your friends call you Issy."

  "Yup."

  He flashed his teeth. “Do you mind if I call you Issy?"

  "Yup."

  She hadn't glanced at him, flinched, anything. She drove. Fast.

  He watched the rolling mounds of desert speed by for a while before trying again. “So who is Lizzy?"

  "My Quarter Horse.” The warm breeze whipped a strand of her dark hair across her face and she brushed it back.

  A three word answer. That was progress. “And you barrel race with Lizzy?"

  "Yup."

  One word. “Issy and Lizzy. That's catchy. Did you name your horse?"

  "Nope. Name came with her."

  "Ah.” He nodded.

  "Before you ask another question, know I'm not interested in answering. Okay?"

  "Okay.” Warner drummed his fingers against his leg while he held his grin in check. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Isobel. Winning her over was going to be as challenging as putting out a six alarm blaze. Warner's pulse quickened. He loved the heat.