Obsessed by Wildfire

by Autumn Jordon

  "Hey.” Again he grabbed her hand. Their fingers intertwined. “You like to tease, don't you?"

  Isobel shrugged. She did like to excite him, but with her hand firmly trapped in his she couldn't explore by touch, at least with her fingers. “Humph. Tell me, how did I come in first?” Heat rose to her cheeks. “Besides the fact, that I came first."

  He let go of her hand and counted off with his fingers. “You came in first in the barrel race preliminaries tonight."

  "That's not sexual."

  "It counts. The outside experience of my lifetime was second."

  "And third?"

  "Even as a horny college student, I've never gotten lucky three times in one night. Much less in a span of two hours."

  "Then we're tied for first."

  He cocked his head to the side. “How's that?"

  She placed her finger on his chest and slowly moved south, testing where his sensitive area began. Just to be sure. “I've never brought anyone home."

  "Never?"

  "Does that surprise you?"

  "Yeah, it does. You've never snuck a high school boyfriend into your room?"

  "Hell, no. My papa would've killed him.” Forgetting about his ticklish spot, she rested her hand on her leg. “And tanned my hide with a whip made from his dried skin and other important body parts."

  "Ouch.” Warner cringed. “I guess most fathers would react that way about their beautiful little girls."

  "Maybe.” He'd called her beautiful, again. She never thought of herself as beautiful. When she fixed herself up, she considered herself sort of pretty, but certainly not the way Warner made her feel—super model sexy, wild, gorgeous. Plain Jane Doe, dependable, hardworking. Those were better adjectives to describe her.

  She dropped her gaze to the span of pastel sheet between them. She doubted any father would go as berserk as her papa would. Rio was very territorial. Mama could've been the world's greatest barrel racer, if he'd let her. Instead, he kept her under wraps. Mama never even had a job. Isobel vowed she was never going to let any man control that way.

  Warner snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

  Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. Forget Papa. This was her life and she wanted to concentrate on the hard muscles lying next to her. “No. You didn't. I was just thinking."

  "About?"

  Peering toward the rising sun, her long hair slid over her shoulders. “Nothing really."

  "Okay.” With a sigh, Warner shifted and folded his arms behind his head. “Can I ask you a question?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Why do you call your father by his first name?"

  She dropped to the bed on her back and pulled the sheet higher on her breasts. Their romp had been fun, but Warner hadn't got the hint she'd didn't want to talk about her family. “I don't know. I've called him Rio for as long as I can remember. Can we change the subject?"

  At Issy's frustrated tone, he studied her profile from the corner of his eye. She stared at the ceiling, her eyes fixed. The morning sunlight danced across her tan skin. He could be lying next to a mannequin with its hands folded across its belly, that's how still she remained.

  Talking about her father was a sore spot. Was Rio as protective of his daughter as the waitress at the Blue Bonnet had described?

  Issy had to be around twenty-five or twenty-six. Still she was Rio's daughter. If Warner had a daughter, he'd want to protect her no matter how old she was.

  He didn't know Rio. Maybe he should be nervous. “Sure. We can talk about anything you want. You were telling me we were tied for first times. Besides bringing me home, how was I your first?"

  Wearing a frown, she sat up and tucked the sheet under her arms. Issy looked down over her shoulder at him. Something was going through her mind. Silence hung in the air between them. Warner stroked her bare back. “Tell me. What's wrong, Issy?"

  "Look if we're done here, could you get dressed?” She shot off the bed, taking the sheet with her. Issy's hair swung at her hips as she stalked across the bedroom. Turning, she snatched his pants off the hard back chair, tossed them onto the bottom of the bed and then disappeared into the bathroom.

  What had she been thinking about? Warner rolled to his side and propped his head up. She'd constructed tall fences to protect herself from something and didn't intend to let anyone in. His heart constricted thinking she might've been abused as a child. He liked her, a lot. He wanted to see her again. “Can I ask you another question?"

  "If it means you'll get dressed.” Her words were muffled because of the closed door, but he still recognized pain in her tone.

  A pipe creaked and he heard water sloshing into the sink.

  He slid off the bed, grabbed his jockey shorts from the floor and waited until she turned the tap off. “I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me tonight."

  The bathroom door flung open. Issy was wrapped in a white terry cloth robe with its belt cinched tight around her waist. Her mass of hair was twisted up and its ends crown the back of head resembling a rooster's plume. “No."

  "Why not?"

  "I can't."

  Her scrunched up nose made Warner yank his pants up and post his hands on his hips. “Look at your face. I thought you enjoyed yourself tonight?"

  "I did.” With her back to him, she pulled a pair of socks from a drawer.

  "Then why the repulsed expression and why won't you have dinner with me?"

  Her fingers clenched around the socks. “Look it's not you. You were great, okay. Probably the best man I've had."

  "Have there been that many?"

  Issy heaved a sigh while she dropped onto the hardback chair. She proceeded to roll the socks over her feet. “No. I'm not promiscuous."

  On the breeze drifting through the open window, they heard the rumble of a vehicle approaching the house. Issy dashed to the window. The curtains billowed around her as she stood on tip toe and stretched to see the driveway leading from the main highway to the side of the house.

  "Oh, great.” Coming off her toes, she darted for the chair and hurled his shirt at him. “Get dressed. It's Chicky."

  "The guy you were going to whip the night I met you?"

  "Yes. Get dressed now.” She untied her robe. It slipped from her shoulders and slid to the floor in the wake of her footsteps as she raced to a bureau.

  At the sight of her supple naked curves, desire stirred in Warner's lower body. “Why the rush? You're over twenty-one, right?"

  "Of course I am. This town has a grapevine centuries old and it's more efficient than the Worldwide Web. Who I choose to sleep with, and when, is my business. Nobody else's.” She yanked open the closet doors, selected articles of clothing from its depth and was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans before Warner had pulled on his socks.

  "He's going to see my truck."

  Her wild gaze darted to the window. “Damn."

  "I have an idea.” He combed his fingers through his hair while heading for the stairs.

  She trailed close on his heels. “What are you going to do?"

  "Put some coffee on and follow my lead.” In the kitchen, he glanced out the back door window while Issy filled the coffee maker with water and grounds. Chicky had parked his beat-up pickup next to his shiny SUV. The short Hispanic climbed out of his vehicle, pushed his straw cowboy hat onto his head and grinned while inspecting the newer truck from hood to tailgate. When he looked toward the house, Warner pulled back from the window.

  "What's he doing?” Issy hit the coffeemaker's button and a few seconds later the scent of morning brew filled the air.

  "He's admiring my SUV but I think he's going to head this way.” Warner back peddled, pulled a chair out and took a seat at the kitchen table.

  Issy lifted a mug from a hook inside a cabinet before she turned and saw him sitting there. Her mouth fell open. “That's your cover up? To sit at my table and wait for Chicky to see you? You've got to get out of here.” She pointed toward
the living room and front door.

  "He's already seen my truck. How are you going to explain it's parked in your driveway and I'm not here? Get another mug."

  "What? No."

  Warner spied a tablet and pencil caddy next to the phone. He rose and peeked between the curtains draping the back door. “He's coming up the path. Probably wants to check on you."

  "More like he's nosy."

  Warner grabbed the pad and a pen and slid back onto the chair. Issy hadn't moved. “Look. Trust me. Pour me a cup of coffee. Black's fine and open the back door.” He jotted down a note to himself.

  "You've got to be kidding."

  He glanced up at her while his hand moved across the page. “Act surprised."

  "Ohhh.” Issy's glare as she poured the drink told him exactly how she felt. If his plan didn't work, she would take that whip of hers to his backside.

  "Trust me. Go. Before he knocks."

  Issy plopped the mug on the table in front of him, the coffee kissing the lip, and scurried to the door. She yanked it open a hair before Chicky's boot heels hit the porch floorboards. “Oh, my God. You scared me, Chicky.” She held her hand to her heart. “What are you doing here?"

  "I thought I'd get started on covering up the yellow, since you don't like it.” He looked over her shoulder. “I didn't know you had company."

  "Company?"

  Good—she had responded like she had no idea what Chicky was talking about, but that was as good as it got. Issy was lost for words. The chair scraped the floor as Warner rose. He reached around Issy and extended his hand. “Good morning. I'm Warner Keyson. I'm investigating the rash of fires.” For a skinny guy, Chicky's grip was mighty strong.

  "He's a fire marshal,” Issy added a little too quickly, her eyes darting up over her shoulder at him. Issy was as jumpy as a first time flyer.

  Chicky's gaze bounced between them. “Fire marshal? What do you want with Issy?"

  "Oh, he doesn't want me."

  Issy stuffed her hands into her back pockets, knocking him in the ribs. He fought the urge to grimace and stepped from behind her. With her hands on her tight ass, her round, firm breasts lifted higher. Oh, he wanted her again. Warner cleared his throat. “Miss Trinidad isn't a suspect. She helped me yesterday."

  "He hired the cab to drive him to the fire sites,” she added.

  "Why? He has that SUV.” Chicky nodded to the vehicle parked next to his.

  "He didn't know how—"

  "I didn't know where the places—” They spoke simultaneously. He smiled at Issy. “I only have a few days to wrap things up here. I didn't want to waste time trying to find the fire sites, so I hired Ms. Trinidad to drive me."

  Chicky's chin lifted. His dark eyes twinkled under his weathered straw hat. “I see."

  "Anyway—” Warner retrieved the notepad and pencil from the table. “Thank you for answering a few questions for me this morning. You've been a big help, Ms. Trinidad."

  "Isobel."

  "Isobel.” He smiled.

  "You're welcome.” He saw the relief in her eyes as her soft hand gripped his.

  "You'll pick me up around one then."

  Issy's eyes rounded.

  Chicky jumped on the bait. “Where you going?"

  "Ms. Trinidad agreed to drive with me up to Lubbock. I need to ask Mrs. Parkinson some questions, and I think she'd be more comfortable if someone she knew was there.” He smirked and squeezed Issy's hand.

  Her lips curled as the fire in her eyes blazed.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  "Issy has an enamorado.” Wearing his straw rancher's hat set back on his head and a grin wider than the Pecos River, Chicky danced into the double bay of Rio's garage. The high noon's glare bounced off his hat's silver studded cross-band like micro-lasers.

  "You're loco,” Isobel retorted.

  Her papa's head popped up from beneath the hood of Jackson Turner's Chevy pickup. “What's that?"

  "Yeah, Rio. The whole village is buzzin’ like drone bees chasin’ a queen. Our little Issy has a boyfriend. An enamorado."

  Rio's gaze landed on her hard.

  Chicky's sing-song made Isobel grind her back teeth. She stabbed the dipstick back into the oil fill slot and slammed the hood of her cab. “Will you stop? I do not have a boyfriend."

  Staring at Papa, into dark eyes that mirrored her own, Isobel's chest constricted with the same fear she remembered as a child when she lied. She drew a breath throwing the feeling off and grabbed the empty oil cans from the ground. “You don't know what you're talking about.” She faced off with Chicky. “And by the way, after I told you no, why did you paint my barn yellow?"

  "Yellow's nice and I got the paint for little bucks. Jackson's had twenty gallons damaged when a pallet of fence posts fell on them. People won't buy dented cans for some reason."

  "I hate yellow. You knew that. Did you think I'd come home and just say okay it's done, leave it."

  "Callate!” Papa yelled. “Enough about the barn. The wood is so old it soaked up the paint. We can repaint it anytime."

  "I already started this morning.” Chicky side-stepped her. “That's how I know the rumors I heard over at the Blue Bonnet are true."

  "How so?” Papa wiped his hands on a red shop towel.

  "He was at her place this morning. Crack of dawn."

  "What this?"

  Isobel imagined the towel twisting in Papa's hand was his way of practicing for Warner's neck. She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Keyson stopped by on his way over the Parkinson's place to ask if I'd drive up to Lubbock with him. No big deal."

  "He could've called at that hour.” Papa turned to Chicky. “Tell me. Who is this man after my Issy?"

  "Muy importante—"

  "No one is after me, Papa.” She gave Chicky an if-you-say-another-word-I'll-rip-your-tongue-out glare. “Mr. Keyson is the fire marshal investigating the fires that started up again."

  "Why does he want you to go to Lubbock?"

  "To see Ivy. He has some questions for her and he thought she'd be more comfortable if someone she knew was with him. I'd mentioned I was going to go visit her.” Isobel had had no intention of going with Warner, but now she had no choice. What reason could she give to back out? And if she didn't have a good one, Papa, Chicky and the whole damn town would suspect something happened between her and the Yankee.

  "I don't like this. You will not go.” Papa stuffed his shop rag into his back jean pocket and crossed his arms over his barreled chest resembling pictures of Montezuma, king of his realm.

  The hairs on the back of Isobel's neck prickled. Papa was ordering her. She folded her arms and held his gaze. “I am not a child. You can't tell me when and where I can go and with whom. I promised Mr. Keyson, and I always keep my promises. I'm going."

  "Rio, I brought your lunch.” Isobel's mother entered the garage. She carried a basket covered by a chili pepper colored cloth which matched her cotton dress. At the sight of Issy and Rio's rigid postures, Esbe Trinidad stopped next to Chicky. “What in heaven's name is going on?"

  "We've got us a standoff.” Chicky hooted, nearly dancing in place.

  "Over what this time? The morning headlines, or what name brand air-gun to buy, or whether Issy would've made better time last night running Lizzy to the left instead of the right? The problem is you two are too much alike. Thick heads. You get an idea into your heads and can't let it go.” Isobel's mother threw her long dark braid over her shoulder.

  Papa's eyes remained on Isobel. “Esbe, your daughter is taking a trip to Lubbock with a stranger."

  Isobel planted her feet. “He is not a stranger. He's a fire mars—"

  Chicky raised his hand. “That's right, Rio. He's no stranger. She was dancin’ with him at the saloon the other night. And some say he was at the rodeo last night too."

  Papa's eyes rounded. “Where? I didn't see him."

  Damn. She must be the only one in Wayback to have gotten lucky last night and the
whole damn town was determined to find out every detail. She could just imagine the gossip flying over the fried eggs and ten ounce steaks at the Blue Bonnet this morning. Her glare cut Chicky's way. “Don't you have a barn to paint?"

  "It's too hot. Painting is early morning work. Besides I'm heading over to the Blue Bonnet for lunch."

  And to update everyone on her and Warner, no doubt.

  "You didn't tell me you knew this man.” Papa's brows became one on his furrowed forehead.

  "Rio, she is not a child.” Mama placed the basket on the workbench. “She is a full-grown woman for God's sake. So she danced with a man. So she wants to see him again."

  "I don't—"

  Mama raised her index finger and Isobel clamped her lips shut. “Be careful of lies. They only get you into trouble."

  Mama touched his arm and Papa stared down at her. “She's not going to be your little girl forever."

  The fire in her Papa's eyes mellowed. His shoulders relaxed. “Issy will always be my girl. I don't want some stranger hurting her."

  Isobel's heart melted. Papa was concerned about her. She trapped her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering.

  "She will always be our daughter. We raised her well. She has made good choices so far in her life. I'm sure she will continue.” Mama took Papa's hand. “Now, come. Sit down. Your lunch is waiting.” She unpacked the basket and handed him a sandwich. “And Chicky, I expect you'll have Issy's barn done by next weekend. Yellow.” She clucked her tongue in her cheek.

  "Yes, ma'am.” Chicky dipped his hat.

  "Good. Now go and tell those gossip mongers at the Blue Bonnet that Rio and I know all about Issy's new friend. Rio and I have invited him to our Labor Day picnic on Monday."

  "Mama!"

  "Issy if I were you, I'd get home, freshen up and change your clothes before you take off for Lubbock. No man likes the smell of garage grease on his woman. Right, Rio?” She turned and posted her hands on her hips. “You drop that sandwich and go wash your hands. I will not have el cerdo eating my food."

  Papa cautiously looked up from his sandwich, placed the sandwich on the wax paper and did as he was told.