Swelter

by D. Jackson Leigh

  The car crisis could have prompted her reaction, but the heat and dehydration more likely caused it. She hadn’t been able to keep much on her nervous stomach since Lauren had walked out of their hotel room and the media scavengers began circling. The legitimate news media lost interest after the initial reporting, but the entertainment and social media bloggers were relentless as long as the public kept lapping it up.

  She stumbled back to the trunk and rummaged through her bag for mouthwash. Ah, frosted mint. Better than water. She swigged a mouthful, gargled, swished, and spit. She turned too quickly and braced herself half in, half out of the trunk until a wave of dizziness passed.

  “Whoa. Got to watch that.” She closed her eyes until the world stopped spinning around her, then slowly withdrew from the trunk and stood. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

  Okay. Deep breath. List the facts of the problem. Brainstorm options. Evaluate and rank possible solutions.

  Option number one: find the problem and fix it. Teal walked back to the front of the car and stared down at the now-white hunk of metal and melted hoses. Not a viable solution.

  Option two: call Triple A. She was so glad she hadn’t given in to the temptation to let her membership lapse or opt for the cheaper plan when it had come up for renewal last month. She’d call for a tow. If absolutely necessary, she’d sell the Honda for junk and rent a car. The next town couldn’t be that far away, and her GPS had estimated she was a little more than an hour from her destination.

  She ducked into the car and retrieved her cell phone from the front passenger seat. Geez. The faux leather seat was already so hot, she’d have to cover it if she wanted to sit while she waited for a tow truck to arrive. Heat seeped through her cut-off jeans where she propped a hip against the Honda. Teal gathered her long, dark hair and held it off her shoulders, silently praying for a breeze—no matter how hot. She punched in the 800 number and listened…to nothing. She checked the phone. Christ almighty. “What? No signal? How can there be no signal?” As if to answer, a message flashed across the phone in red letters. LOW BATTERY. “Great. Just great. There’s no signal because I don’t have enough power to pick up one.”

  She unbuttoned the lower half of her sleeveless blouse and tied the tail ends together to leave her lower back and stomach exposed just in case a whisper of breeze happened. Mama would say she looked like a trailer-park hooker, but when the alternative was heat stroke, who would care? Her father would.

  “You can’t come here, Teal. Those television people are pestering us night and day. Your father has put up No Trespassing signs, and he even held two of them at gunpoint until the sheriff could come arrest them. Good Lord. When I took the trash to the dump center yesterday, some fellow jumped in the dumpster and pulled the bags out before I had time to leave. He was going through our trash! I don’t know what he expected to find in it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mama.”

  “Give me that phone, woman. You stay away from here, girl.”

  “Daddy, I never wanted this to involve you and Mama.”

  “You’ve not only disgraced yourself, you’ve disgraced us. We can’t hold our heads up in church. You always wanted to be one of those fancy people. Well, get one of them to help you. We’re just simple, God-fearing people. You’re not one of us anymore. Lose this phone number.”

  She didn’t blame them, really. She’d been pretty full of herself as she climbed higher among the inside ranks in Washington. She hadn’t had time to remember birthdays or go home on holidays. When she did visit, it was mostly to see her sisters. Still, she didn’t go often because her visits usually devolved into a political argument with her right-wing father, which made everybody’s holiday miserable.

  Trouble was, her “fancy friends” had all disappeared, too—ducking for political cover. Driving to Canada and getting a waitress job some place where nobody knew her face was starting to look like her only option when her phone had rung one evening. Wade, a second cousin she’d met maybe once, was calling. He said Mama had given him her phone number. He had a small ranch in New Mexico and could use some help in the house and around the barn. Yep, he knew about her problem. As long as she didn’t lead the media dogs to his doorstep, they wouldn’t likely be able to find her in the remote area where he lived. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay, he’d said. So, she’d agreed. It wasn’t like she had a better offer.

  He’d hesitated. You’ll be welcome here, Teal. Then he hung up.

  She wasn’t sure how to interpret his parting remark. She knew nothing about this guy, but he didn’t sound all that old. Geez. Surely Mama wasn’t trying to match her up with a second cousin. If that was the case, she’d have to set him straight, so to speak, right away. She sighed. Suck it up, Giovanni. Okay, she might not be the TJ who’d taken Washington by storm, but she was a Giovanni. She hated the Crawley side of her family, and using the name now was a bitter pill to swallow. But she still had some identification under that name, so it was convenient.

  She stared at the reddish-brown dust covering her expensive running shoes, her mind suddenly blank. What had she been doing? She shook her head to clear the confusion. Her split second of panic evaporated when the Honda’s raised hood came into her peripheral vision. Oh, yeah. She rubbed at the pain that had begun pounding her temple and gathered her thoughts.

  Option number three: abandon ship.

  She looked north, then south. Tufts of long, coarse grass, an occasional cactus or stubborn scrub of a tree dotted the red, sun-baked earth. The distant, jagged outline of mountains shimmered in the east. Not even a coyote in sight, much less a gas station. When was the last time she passed another car? There was that eighteen-wheeler about an hour ago. She’d spent the past six weeks with hordes of media following her every move and prayed for a moment of solitude. Now, when she actually needed another person—preferably one with transportation or a working phone—she seemed to be the only person on the planet.

  She drew a shaky breath. She was so screwed.

  *

  August lifted the brown Stetson with one hand and glanced into her rearview mirror to adjust it on her head as she steered down the old state highway. She hadn’t worn one of these since she was a kid, showing her grandfather’s calves in the junior livestock show at the county fair each summer. She’d even started French-braiding her hair again, rather than leaving it down to soften her angular face. It was more practical in this heat, and if she wanted to hide in plain sight, she needed to blend in with the rest of the ranchers in the area.

  “What do you think, Rio?”

  The solid-black border collie watching her from the passenger seat yipped her approval.

  “Eh, you’re biased.”

  She checked the mirror again. The slight smile that reflected back at her was grim. Under different circumstances, the hat would have been a good look for her. A real chick magnet. Her own hard stare admonished her. Fool. Don’t think about her. Just remember that she’s the reason your law degree and everything else you’ve worked for since you passed the bar might as well be compost now.

  She jerked the steering wheel when her right tires kicked up a cloud of dust as the truck drifted off the edge of the roadway. Shit. She checked her mirror again—this time for vehicles behind her, just in case someone saw her driving like a drunk because she was busy lecturing herself.

  August relaxed at the sight of empty highway behind her, then tensed when she spotted the car pulled off the road ahead. The driver’s door was open, and two bare legs with sneaker-covered feet extended out to rest on the pavement. She didn’t see any other vehicles ahead or behind her on the long, flat ribbon of highway, which wasn’t unusual. Most traffic had shifted to the newer four-lane bypass that opened up about five years before. Was it a trap? Had Reyes already found her? Was she being stupidly paranoid? Maybe. But being paranoid is better than dead.

  She slowed the battered ranch pickup to a crawl as she approached. DC plates. Anyone sent by Rey
es should be smart enough to use a vehicle with a local license plate. August pulled her truck over about five yards before reaching the car. She left the engine running, ready to throw the truck in reverse, then execute a three-point turn and burn rubber in the opposite direction.

  Rio stood in her seat, ears canted forward to catch any sound.

  A dark head popped out of the doorway, and then a woman sprang from the car. If Reyes was setting a trap, this would be the bait August would expect him to use. Right now, most guys would be adjusting their pants and warming up a thousand-kilowatt smile at the sight in front of her.

  The woman’s long, dark hair shone in the afternoon sun, and sweat glistened on the long, smooth slope of her exposed belly. Jean shorts hung low on her slim hips and were cut off a little too short for the shapely legs that seemed to go on for days. She was dressed like any of the small-town local girls looking to hook up with somebody holding a one-way ticket to some place more exciting.

  But August wasn’t a guy and she saw a different picture.

  The DC plate on her car wasn’t the only thing screaming that the woman didn’t belong here. Her teeth were too perfectly straight and a brilliant white. Her hair, which fell just below the top of her shoulders, was professionally cut in the uneven lengths of a full, flowing style. August would put money on those cut-off jeans being a designer brand. They didn’t look like the usual Wrangler or Carhartt clothing brands common in these parts. Also, those weren’t outlet-store sneakers. August recognized the Adizero Adios as a favorite among marathon-race enthusiasts, which explained the shapely legs.

  August reached under her seat to grab her 9mm Colt Defender, tucking it in the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back as she opened the door and stepped out. “Stay,” she said. Rio whined and sat but didn’t take her eyes off the stranger.

  The woman’s quick smile wavered when August remained standing behind her open door. August watched her duck briefly back into the car. When she reappeared, her shirt was untied and straightened to modestly cover her previously exposed belly, and her right hand was tucked casually into the pocket of her shorts. The woman shaded her eyes with her left hand and squinted against the sun’s glare. She remained next to her open car door and raised her voice to be heard when August didn’t approach either.

  “Hi. I’m sort of stranded and my cell phone is dead. Do you have a phone that gets a signal out here so I can call for a tow? I have Triple A.”

  August dismissed the idea that the woman also had a gun. There was barely enough room in those shorts for her ass, much less a weapon. She stepped out from behind the truck’s open door. The woman shifted nervously, withdrawing her hand from her pocket. She was palming a small canister. Probably pepper spray.

  August relaxed. She’d read the body language of a lot of witnesses, and this woman was afraid of her. She realized then how she must appear. At a bit over six feet tall and with her hair pulled back, August would appear to be a tall, square-jawed person in dusty jeans and a hat pulled low over the eyes—someone the woman surely interpreted as a man. She was all alone with a disabled car, and August’s cautious approach wasn’t exactly friendly. August dropped her hands to her sides, turning them so the woman could see they were empty. Then she pushed her hat back on her head and smiled. “I’ve got a phone, but if you want to go through Triple A, you’ll probably have to wait for a tow truck to come out from Tulia. It could be a while.”

  The woman’s posture relaxed, and August swept her hat off for good measure, then started toward her. She held out her hand when the woman met her halfway. “I’m August.”

  “Teal.”

  August cocked her head. “As in the color teal?”

  Teal crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah. My mother fancies herself an interior decorator and viewed children as marriage accessories.”

  Ouch. August tried to read the guarded brown eyes. “I hesitated when I stopped because you were acting sort of suspicious, like someone else might be in your car. Then I realized that if you’re from DC like your license plate says, you probably weren’t used to seeing a woman wearing a Stetson. You were sticking close to your car because you probably thought I was a guy.”

  Teal shaded her eyes again and licked her dry lips as she peered at August. “I have to admit that being out here alone…well, every crime story I’ve ever seen on television was running through my head.”

  August chuckled. “I can’t blame you.” She moved around Teal and pointed toward the Honda as she walked. “Like I said, it will take a while for you to get a tow truck way out here. Maybe there’s a simple fix that can at least get you to the next town.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already checked. If I could just use your phone for a moment, I’ll make the call.”

  August waved off her protest and rounded the front fender of the Honda. “It’s no problem. I know a little bit about engines.” She looked down. A small fire extinguisher rested on top of the charred motor. “Well, hell.” She grabbed the fire extinguisher and held it up as she stepped around the car to confront Teal. “You didn’t say the engine was burned to a crisp.”

  Teal still stood where they’d met halfway between the vehicles, her hands on her hips and glaring at August. “You didn’t give me a chance. I’m not an idiot. I might have DC plates, but I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, thank you very much. I’ve repaired a tractor engine with nothing but baling wire—” Her face suddenly contorted into a grimace, and she crumpled to the ground.

  August raced to her, sliding to a kneeling stop next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Cramp.” Teal groaned as she frantically massaged her right calf, then whimpered and clutched at her left thigh. “Oh, oh, crap. Oh, man, that hurts.”

  August grabbed Teal’s right foot and gently extended her leg while pushing the toes upward toward the knee. “You work on the Charlie horse in your thigh. I’ll focus on your calf.” Teal’s jaw was clamped tight, and her nostrils flared as she breathed through the pain in short, rapid puffs. August massaged the rock-hard muscle for several minutes, flexing the foot more as the calf muscle slowly relaxed and softened. She tried not to think about the smooth, tanned skin of the shapely leg slowly becoming more pliant under her touch. Teal’s hand stopped hers mid-stroke.

  “I’m good now. Thanks.”

  August looked up into eyes the color of rich chocolate. She realized Teal’s face didn’t match the tan on her legs. She was pale and her skin was clammy. August hoped the overreaction to her checking the engine was out of character, too. It would be a shame for a woman so beautiful to be a total bitch. “Headache?”

  Teal blinked at her. “What?”

  “Does your head hurt? And are you nauseous?”

  Teal visibly swallowed, then nodded. “I might be a little dehydrated.”

  August stood. “More than a little. You’re probably suffering from heat exhaustion.” She picked up her new hat and shook the dust from it.

  “I’m not having a heat stroke.” Teal tried to stand but cursed when she misjudged the residual soreness from the cramps, lost her balance, and landed on her rear again after August failed in a belated attempt to catch her.

  “I said exhaustion, not stroke. But it can be as bad if you don’t take care of it. I have air-conditioning in the truck.” August picked up her hat she’d dropped again and dusted it a second time, then looked at her watch. BJ needed the pump part she’d gone into town to buy. Without it, eighty-five heifers still nursing babies in the west pasture would go thirsty. Their milk wouldn’t dry up in just one day, though. She could go out and fix it at dawn. “I’ll drive you to a clinic in the next town. When you’re better, you can get someone to come out and tow your car.”

  “How about while you drive, I’ll call Triple A and find out who they contract. You can drop me there. I promise to buy a huge bottle of water and drink all of it. But no clinic.”

  “You should see a doctor.” August extended a hand.

  Teal accepted th
e help and got to her feet, more slowly this time. She avoided August’s gaze. “I don’t have insurance. No clinic. I’ll be okay.”

  August pursed her lips. “I can’t just drop you off at some garage. What if you’re not okay?”

  Teal straightened her shoulders and raised her chin to look directly into August’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. I managed on my own in Washington for eight years, so I can certainly survive the rural Southwest. My GPS said I was close to Caprock anyway. I can call my cousin who lives there to come get me.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? I’m headed that way. My ranch is next to Caprock Canyon. Is your cousin a park ranger?”

  “What? No. He’s a rancher. Wade Crawley.” She frowned. “Why did you ask if he was a park ranger?”

  “Because Caprock is a state park,” August said.

  “Caprock, New Mexico?”

  August shook her head, failing in her attempt to hold back a chuckle. “I think your GPS was confused. You’re still in the Texas Panhandle.”

  Teal stared at the ground, her shoulders slumping. For the first time since August had stopped, Teal seemed genuinely shaken, and August instantly regretted laughing.

  Teal raised a shaky hand to rub her temple again. “How…how far am I from Caprock, New Mexico?” Her face had gone from pale to ghost white.

  “I’m not sure, but probably about two hundred and fifty miles.”

  Teal closed her eyes. “I don’t feel so good.” Her words were faint, and when her eyes began to roll back in her head, August instinctively squatted to fold Teal over her shoulder as she collapsed. Teal had the trim body of an avid runner but was only a few inches shorter than August and nothing but lean muscle. August grunted under her weight and moved as quickly as she could toward the truck.