by Kym Roberts
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out as she reached for the curtain.
Scarlet paused, looking over her shoulder. A sad smile slowly formed on her face. “Me too, Charli. Me too.” Then she turned and walked through the curtain, shoulders pushed back with her head held high.
Chapter Five
It’d officially been twenty-four hours since Dalton Hibbs disappeared. Part of me felt good riddance when I thought of his treatment of Scarlet the night before. The other part was sad for my best friend, who was no doubt watching the news and scouring the Internet for any lead as to his whereabouts. And I confess, while setting up the artwork for the sale the next day, I’d listened to the national and local news broadcasts myself—only for news of Dalton. My gut was telling me he was up to no good in some dive hotel with a woman—who wasn’t Scarlet.
Toenails clicked across the floor behind me and I looked down at the little creature who’d been following me around for the past hour. “Princess, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night.”
Squeeeak. She twitched her nose and made some kind of grinding noise with her teeth.
“Girl, you could have used your pet door if you were that hungry.”
Princess snorted and ran for the stairs.
“I’m just going to get all the lights. I’ll be up in a minute.”
This time, she didn’t reply, but I heard her hopping up one step at a time at breakneck speed. Or at least her version of speed. I switched off the lights and made my way upstairs. Princess was looking at me from in front of the bookcase. A couple months ago, I’d learned my dad had installed a hidden door to the apartment behind the bookcase. It was pretty cool not to have to go outside to use exterior set of stairs to access the apartment. Not that it rained much in Hazel Rock, but when it did, it poured.
It was ten o’clock, well past closing time, but I was ready for the silent auction we were having for our book art the next day. Dad had gone home a couple hours earlier and Scarlet hadn’t come back after the reporters departed. I had secretly hoped Scarlet would return after our falling-out that morning, but no such luck.
I flipped the latch for the bookcase and entered the dark space between it and the apartment when I remembered the coffeepot.
“Fuzz buckets. I forgot to turn off the coffeepot. I’ll be right back.”
Princess squeaked in protest.
“I’ve been smelling you since this afternoon. I’m not about to let you in that apartment until I’m there to get your bath ready,” I argued.
She squeaked again but sat back on her haunches to wait.
It was our routine, especially since she liked to get on the couch or my bed when I wasn’t looking. Armadillos have their own special odor. She wasn’t getting on my furniture without a bath.
I made my way downstairs, not bothering to turn on the lights, since I knew the store better than any place on earth. I went behind the register and turned off the coffeepot and glanced out the front window. The front porch light was out when it should have automatically come on at dusk.
“Seriously? What else?” I said to no one in particular. The light would have to be fixed before The Tool Shed Tavern emptied for the night so the patrons could see the sign reminding them of the auction the next day. Otherwise, they just might sleep through it.
I went to the back room and grabbed a replacement bulb on the shelf. Then I removed the flashlight off the wall, before making my way back to the front of the store. Princess was descending the steps, apparently too impatient to wait for me upstairs.
I shut off the alarm, then flipped the lock open. Princess squeaked in protest.
“I know, but it will just take me a minute. Hold on to your shell!” I told her.
I turned back just as the two automatic barn doors swished open. I loved that my dad invested in the new doors to make them open at the same time like that. It caught everyone’s attention.
Stepping out onto the porch, I nearly screamed when a cowboy suddenly stood up in front of me.
“Holy shcnikes, you nearly scared me half to death!” I laughed as I held the bulb to my chest.
But he didn’t laugh in return. In fact, his back was to me as he fiddled with something in his hand. His dark plaid shirt looked like it could have belonged to anyone, but the colors were a little different. Not so Southern, or Western. But maybe a knock-off brand from a mall out west. Or back east. As he stood up, I knew this cowboy, wasn’t a real cowboy. And suddenly it wasn’t so funny. The hairs on the back of my neck started to tingle. Seriously, I wondered if I should whack him across the back of his head with the flashlight and run.
And then it was too late. He whipped around with something fire-red in his hand. My mind screamed danger while my heart felt like it shot right out of my chest as the cattle branding tool came in my direction. I lost focus on everything but that burning ember directed at my face. I swiped at him with the flashlight, while sending a silent thank you to my dad for buying the heavier metal light, instead of a plastic design. The flashlight came into contact with his forearm with a resounding thud, but I knew my strike was pathetic; I’d be lucky if he got a bruise. He rallied with a jab, the end of the branding iron glowing with an insignia I was too busy avoiding to identify.
The doors to the Barn swished open behind him as he came at me again. I tripped backward and my back struck the porch post. The flashlight and lightbulb both clattered to my feet as broken glass tinkled across the porch. I scrambled for my flashlight, knowing it was the only weapon I had. But before I could grab it, I found an arm wrapped around me from behind, while his other forearm came into view with the sizzling branding iron coming straight for my face.
I pushed against his arm with everything I had and tried to look up into his eyes, but his hat and the lack of light kept his face completely obscured. The doors swished closed behind him, closing off my escape route. The searing heat from the branding iron quickly became my only focus once again. It was like what they say about looking down the barrel of a gun. I could identify every nitch that didn’t burn as bright as the rest. Every curve and curlicue in the design. I couldn’t make out what that design was at the moment, but that wasn’t because I didn’t know it by heart. I knew every last detail. My brain just wouldn’t process the information into a coherent thought. Its only function seemed focused on fighting and keeping my heart from exploding through the wall of my chest. I pushed against his arm with all my strength, and yet I knew, in the next fifteen seconds, I’d be wearing someone’s brand across my face if I didn’t do something else—fast. The smell of burnt hair reached my nose: it was only a matter of seconds before the brand marked me as part of someone’s herd.
I swung my head back with all my force. I missed his nose and struck his jaw. Unfortunately, it wasn’t made of glass, but rather stronger, sturdier stuff than me. My head felt like it was going to implode.
Then I remembered a bit of physics. If you can’t beat the force, go with the force. I quit pushing against his grip, and instead directed his arm away from my face. He fell forward with his own momentum. The brand flew by my left ear, the heat much hotter than my curling iron. As he pulled back, I pushed, then released and aimed the branding iron at his nose but caught his forehead instead. He hissed and started backing away, but I wasn’t done as The Barn doors swished open again. I kicked his knee and heard a crunching sound before either one of us could get away. He ran for the store as his leg buckled and he fell to the porch.
The doors swished closed and I fumbled with the lock. My fingers refused to do anything. The muscles and tendons tightened as if rigor mortis was prematurely setting in. I finally got the door locked and backed away. My breathing sounding like a donkey in heat as something slammed against the barn doors. The automatic motor tried to open the doors again as the motion detector was triggered. I ran back toward the switch and flipped it to the off position. Then I turned and ran for the steps. I didn’t stop until I was in th
e apartment with my phone in my hand and Princess looking at me like I was an idiot.
Chapter Six
It was Mateo who knocked on my apartment door a few minutes later. He looked me up and down with his dark chocolate eyes, making sure I was in one piece. Then he looked at my hair. I’d forgotten about my hair.
“Is it bad?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“On me?”
“No, but you’ve had your moments.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The night you tackled Mike down by the river.”
“So this isn’t anything a good wash and comb can’t fix?” I knew it was a pipe dream, but sometimes I liked having my head in the clouds. Besides, our banter was a welcome distraction from the harrowing experience I’d just had.
Mateo winced and pulled his notebook from his front uniform pocket. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“How far would you go?” As soon as the question spewed from my mouth, my face heated. It got worse when Mateo’s gaze left his notepad and those bedroom eyes met mine.
“Is that a proposition?” he asked.
“What? No…I…well…” My tongue was acting like it got burned, sputtering and oozing words that didn’t come close to completing a sentence.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened tonight.”
“Come on in and have a seat.” Mateo moved inside, his broad shoulders crowding me and I moved over to the other side of my leather sofa, indicating he should have a seat there while I sat in my mom’s glider. The rock and sway gave me comfort after a stressful night followed by a too-hot-for-his-britches visitor.
I went through the events, answering a few questions supplied by a frowning Mateo. I described the cowboy as taller than me, but shorter than him, wearing a black felt hat, plaid shirt, and vest with jeans and cowboy boots. My description fit at least half of the men in Texas.
“Do you know if he was white, black, or Hispanic?” he asked.
“I think he was white, but he could have been Hispanic. All I saw were his hands and even then, I was focused on the branding iron. I couldn’t even tell you much about his build. It just happened too fast and it was too dark.”
“What happened to your porch light?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I went outside. I noticed the light was out and I was going to change the bulb.”
Once I had given him all the details, I returned to an equally important subject. “Can I ask you one question?”
“Sure.”
“Just how bad is my hair, really?”
“You might want to have Scarlet work her magic on it.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Scarlet isn’t talking to me.”
When he didn’t respond, I slowly opened my eyes, wondering if he didn’t care what Scarlet and I did. Mateo had closed his notebook and sat there waiting for me to continue.
“I may have pushed our friendship further than she was ready to go.”
He still didn’t respond. He just sat there with his elbows on his knees and his pad and pen held in his hands, completely at ease as he waited for me to explain.
“I kind of told her that Dalton wasn’t worth her time.”
“From what I heard occurred at the Tool Shed, I would agree.”
“But she wasn’t ready to agree.”
“And that’s the problem. From my experience, you can tell a woman the right and the wrong way she should be treated, but the moment you say her man’s no good, she clings to her idea of what he’s meant to her.” Mateo stood up and I followed. “She’ll come around. Scarlet’s a smart woman.”
“The smartest one I know.”
“So smart she gives me a headache.” Mateo put his pen and pad in the pocket of his clean, crisp uniform shirt. “Let’s go down and take a look at that light.” It wasn’t a question. It was one of Mateo’s finely disguised orders that you didn’t want to ignore. I had once. Never again.
I left Princess in the apartment despite her trying to scurry past our feet and we walked down the steps in silence. The frogs down by the river were singing to their future mates and the sign in the alleyway creaked on its antique iron bracket. My dad had hung the “Eve’s Gate” sign when we first moved into the apartment when I was a kid. It marked the entrance to our private residence in the middle of town and was a tribute to my mom.
Mateo eyed the sign.
“Cade’s been talking,” I said.
“Everybody in town’s been talking about that sign. Even Bobby Ray.”
“Seriously?” I opened the latch to the gate that lead to the courtyard between our barn and the antique shop in the old hospital next door.
“Your dad says your mom is watching over you and makes sure anyone who passes through that alley has good intentions toward you.”
“Well then, I guess you’re safe.”
“Cade wasn’t. The sign has dropped on him twice.”
“You don’t seriously believe it was my mom who caused the sign to fall, do you?” When he didn’t respond, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a police officer. Next thing I know you’ll be saying the chupacabra is real.”
Mateo just looked at me. I really couldn’t tell if he thought the legendary goat killing animal was real or not. I returned my attention back to the sign. “Cade and I were standing under the sign when it fell. It wasn’t like it flew through the air and tagged him on the back of the head.”
Mateo made that noncommittal head nod I’d seen him make a hundred times since I’d met him.
“Don’t tell me you believe my mom purposely knocked down that sign from heaven?” I asked.
We both looked up at the full strawberry moon that happened to fall today, the official first day of summer.
The fountain bubbling in the courtyard and the cool breeze slipping between the buildings made me remember one of the things I loved most about Hazel Rock—the nights were truly spectacular. We don’t have a lot of street lights and when I stepped away from the porch lights, the stars were endless, the moon was dominant, and the sounds of nature made me feel like I was part of the earth—not just a person using all its resources for my own benefits.
The sky truly was amazing tonight. And it was weird to think that if I hadn’t been attacked, I wouldn’t have experienced this moment with Mateo.
“I missed this when I was in Denver,” I confessed. It seemed I was always blurting out things to him that I wouldn’t admit to anyone else.
“Dall—tonnnn! Dallllltonnnn! Where are you?” The melodic voice carried down the street and I knew exactly who was yelling from the tallest point in town.
Mateo and I looked up at the Hazel Rock water tower and witnessed Scarlet, still in her classy pencil cut skirt and silk blouse, hanging onto the railing as her hair blew around her face.
Mateo cursed under his breath and stalked in the direction of his police car, muttering something about a crazy bleepity-bleep full moon. He told the officer at the front of The Barn to stay put and watch the crime scene. I took off toward the tower that was across the street and behind the strip of businesses that ran down Main Street. Surprisingly, by the time I got there, Mateo was on my heels with some kind of strap with hooks wrapped around his hand.
He shoved the strap in his cargo pocket and said, “Distract her while I head up the ladder.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get her drunk-a… Bring her down before she goes and kills herself.”
“Scarlet wouldn’t commit suicide over a guy she just met.”
“Probably not, but I’m beginning to question her IQ if she’s willing to risk her safety for a stunt like this.”
Before I could argue further, Mateo ran toward the other side of the tower, ready to save Scarlet from herself.
“Dallllton!”
I looked up to see Scarlet fumbling with her iPhone.
“Scarlet!” I yelled.
She looked behind her, then down to her left and finally located me almost directly below.
“Hey, Princess! You should be up here!” She giggled, clearly showing she’d had way too much to drink. It was so out of character; it didn’t faze me in the least that she’d used my high school nickname. Just as it didn’t bother me anymore that my dad had renamed the family business or his pet armadillo after me. It was part of me. A part I’d like to keep as history, but a lot of people hadn’t gotten used to calling me Charli yet, so it was understandable that Scarlet would slip in her drunken state.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to find Dalton. What’s it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re drunk and need to come down.”
“I don’t think I can in this skirt.”
“How’d you get up there in the first place?”
She looked around to see if anyone was listening, but she couldn’t see the houses behind her. I decided it was best not to let her in on the fact that front lights were on and a few people were gathered in their PJs, peeking out from under their porch roofs.
Once she decided the coast was clear, she said, “I hiked my skirt up and climbed up the way you did.”
She was referring to my junior year in high school when I climbed over the locked gate that covered the ladder and made my way to the top and began doing cheers to get the town to rally behind our football team. Mainly, my boyfriend the team quarterback. It had all been done on a dare and my stunt landed me in jail. I was afraid Scarlet had the same destiny.
“Dalton! Come back!” She yelled.
I cringed not sure if I was the right one to tell her to stop yelling his name.
“Scarlet?”
She looked back in my direction.
“Do you really think he’s going to hear you from his hotel in Abilene?”
“He’s not there. I checked.”
