Ladies Love Lawmen: When It's A Matter of The Heart or Death...

by D'Ann Lindun

  He didn’t comment. “Where does your brother sleep?”

  She showed him the room opposite of her old bedroom. It, too, had been torn apart.

  As Staton and Perez picked through opened drawers and looked through ravaged closets, she leaned on the wall and watched. As she suspected, he didn't find much. Martin was obsessively neat. His room had always looked like a service cleaned it. There weren't any family pictures or art on the walls. His clothes were folded and placed in drawers and on hangers.

  “Could you tell if he took anything with him?” Staton lifted a worn pair of jeans.

  “No, Agent. I haven't been home in six years.”

  Jake stood at her shoulder as the agent and policeman went through Martin’s things.

  She and Jake followed them into the living room and watched while they searched the papers scattered around Papa’s old roll top desk. Staton sorted through a mangled stack of magazines and several still rolled Arizona Republics. He picked up one of the newspapers and checked the date. “This is dated from the day before the murders occurred. It doesn't look like Martin had time to read any of these.”

  “He doesn't read much.”

  Staton made a note in a little black book. “Are there any more bedrooms?”

  She motioned toward the back of the house. “My parents'.”

  Giving the kitchen and the bathroom a cursory look, Staton and Perez walked to her parents' bedroom and opened the door. Even though she hadn't been home in six years, Castaña held her breath. She could almost hear Papa shouting to stay the hell out. She shook her head. Papa was dead. He couldn't shut her out now.

  “Is this your stuff?” Officer Perez asked of the woman’s clothing strewn about, mingled with bedding and toiletries.

  “No, Officer, it's Briar Rose's.” At his questioning look, she said, “My brother’s girlfriend. I don’t know where she is right now. She was here when I left this morning.”

  The ghosts of Ramon and Magdalena Castillo weren't there. The room bore little resemblance to the neat haven Magdalena had created for herself with handmade quilts and cross-stitch everywhere. The bed had been tipped over, lamp on the floor, curtains hanging at a crooked angle. The deputy opened the closet. Nothing but bare hangers on the floor.

  Staton gingerly picked up a pair of denim shorts that looked like they had never been laundered. “Doesn't this lady use a washing machine?”

  Castaña shrugged. “I don't know anything about her.”

  “Wonder where she's at? I'd like to talk to her.”

  Wouldn't we all? “Don't have a clue, Agent,” she said.

  He reached again for his notebook. “What's the girl's last name?”

  “I don't know.”

  He made a note. “Any idea of her age?”

  “She claims to be twenty-one.”

  “Any idea where she is today?”

  “No, Agent.”

  He placed the little book in his pocket. “Look, Miss Castillo, I'm just doing my job.”

  Her stomach churned. Like she’d never heard that before. Cops never thought it was 'personal' when they arrested Papa or Martin. “It's not personal convicting my brother when you don’t know for sure that he’s the killer?”

  “If your brother's guilty I'll find out. If he's innocent, I'll prove it. So help me by answering my questions honestly.” After a deep breath, he continued, “Does Martin own a weapon?”

  “Of course.” Hurriedly, she added, “He lives in rattlesnake country.”

  Staton furrowed his brow. “Show me the gun cabinet.”

  Feet dragging, she led the men to the cabinet in the living room. She saw it a half second before they did.

  The lock hung open, an empty rack where several rifles should be stored.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Staton pointed at Jake. “I want to talk to you. Outside. Now.”

  Jake waited until they were out of earshot of the house. “What the hell was that? Are you trying to blow my cover?”

  “What have you got going on here, anyway?” Staton grinned. “Another Linda Navarone situation? You got a thing for this girl?”

  “Not even close,” Jake growled, wishing he could punch his supervisor in the mouth. Just like him to bring up the worst time in Jake’s life.

  “You sure? Pretty lady in there.”

  “I’m positive.” Jake wondered if his past mistakes would haunt him until he died. “I’m going to stay here with Miss Castillo until I figure out who trashed her place. You know as well as I do that she didn’t do it because she was with you the entire morning. She could be in danger if whoever did this comes back looking for her brother.” The thought of someone hurting Castaña made his stomach clench. She didn’t deserve to be injured if she got in the way of someone determined to make Martin suffer.

  “Maybe her brother is the one who tore the house up. And what about this other girl, this Briar Rose? Know anything about her? Like where she was when the house was being ransacked?”

  “Not yet.” Jake filled Staton in on what he had been doing, ignoring the other agent’s smart ass grin.

  “Heatstroke?”

  Jake didn’t see the humor. “Yeah.”

  Staton shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, Breton. Don’t screw up this case.”

  “Don’t plan to,” Jake said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be in touch when I know something.”

  “You do that.” Staton walked away tossing one last smirk over his shoulder.

  ~*~

  Castaña left the house in a mess, too worried about Martin to clean it, and was leading her horses out of the barn when Jake came toward her, sending her pulse into overdrive. Even limping, he had a presence that was hard to ignore. The whole package screamed “sexy,” from his sage green eyes to his long legs.

  “Pretty horse.” He patted the gelding’s neck. “What’s this one’s name?”

  “Rojo. The other is Gato.” Red for the sorrel; Cat for the dun. Usually Castaña avoided her heritage, but the Spanish names seemed to fit her horses.

  “I want to go with you,” Jake said unexpectedly.

  She moved to get her saddle. “No way.”

  He hobbled after her into the interior of the barn and cornered her in the tack room. He stood so close she could smell his scent, something spicy, not sweet. “Listen. It might not be safe for you to be alone out there. We don’t know what happened to your brother. And someone trashed your house.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking. “For all either of us knows, there’s some maniac out there. I don’t feel right about you being alone. I might be banged up, but two is better than one.”

  She lifted her saddle. “You’re in no shape to ride, and I’m not going to baby you. I don’t have time to waste.”

  “I can take care of myself and watch your back as well,” he insisted. “I won’t slow you down.”

  “I don’t have a spare horse.” She moved by him and placed her saddle on Gato’s back.

  He followed her and hooked a thumb at the sorrel. “What’s that? A mule?”

  “That’s the pack horse I’m going to load my supplies on. I’m staying out until I find Martin.”

  He looked at the pasture with an arched brow. “Can any of those horses be ridden?”

  Her hand, reaching for her cinch, paused. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was about to lie. Martin’s pride and joy, Cloud, a gray appaloosa, was among the herd. Another one of the many things worrying her. Why had Martin gone into the forest without the appaloosa? The other horses were probably gentle enough, but she didn’t recognize any of them. Knowing Martin, he’d probably worked with the mustangs, gentling them so they could find good homes. “I don’t have a clue if the horses are broke or not.” She mulled it over. Jake was green, but if she were honest with herself, being alone in the forest held little appeal. “Can you ride hard?”

  “I can.” A light in the back of his eyes twinkled at the question, and heat blazed over her cheeks.

&nbs
p; Ignoring the flutter in her stomach she said, “I won’t slow up for you.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” He turned toward the house. “I’m going to get my backpack.”

  She watched him walk away, her gaze drawn to his very sexy ass. With a sigh of regret she turned toward the horses.

  ~*~

  “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Castaña asked Jake one last time when he returned carrying a blue backpack. Dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin, and his skin still looked red. The way he moved, she was sure he had to hurt.

  “I’m positive.” He petted the loud colored appaloosa she had saddled for him. “Is this the horse I’m riding?”

  “Yes. This is Cloud, Martin’s horse.” She eyed the gelding. Steel gray enhanced by black spots, with a big Roman nose, he wasn’t handsome but he was striking. He was also a great mountain horse, and that was what was important. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the obvious contrast between her own highly bred horses and the ugly mustang. Her geldings screamed beauty and class, while the appaloosa cried average. “I wonder why Martin didn’t take him.” Worry pinched her stomach.

  “I don’t know, but the sooner we get out there and find him the better.” Jake indicated his backpack and a tattered rag. “Here’s my stuff, including what’s left of my sleeping bag. Do you have a spare? And what about food?”

  “I already packed two sleeping bags and I brought plenty of supplies with me, which are also loaded.” She took his duffle from him and placed it inside the canvas pannier hanging from the sorrel horse’s back. Buckling the straps, she asked, “Ready?”

  He nodded toward stormy clouds rolling in over the horizon. “Are you sure you want to head out in the face of this storm?”

  “I have no choice, and I’ve ridden in the rain a lot.” She looked at her leather chaps. “Do you have a jacket? A raincoat?”

  “In my backpack.”

  She frowned a little as she dug it out for him. “Cloud can be a handful. No one but Martin has ever ridden him. If you can’t ride him, I’m not going to hold up for you.”

  “Meaning he’s going to toss me a few times, and you’re going to leave me in the dirt?” Jake tied his jacket and raincoat behind the saddle, and then checked the cinch. He untied the appaloosa from the hitch rack and turned him away from it.

  “No, I mean he’s not a good mount for a beginner.” She untied her horses and waited until Jake pulled himself into the saddle, and then she mounted Gato and lifted Rojo’s lead rope. “Ready?”

  “Yeah. Ride out.”

  To her relief, Cloud stepped along calmly.

  They left the ranch behind and in a matter of minutes were in the forest. Nothing made a sound except the horses’ hooves making soft sighs across the layers of pine needles. The ancient trees shielded them from the cold wind blowing in the storm. When the rain came, it was going to pour with a vengeance. Castaña urged the horses to hurry. She half turned in her saddle and asked over the rising wind. “Where were you camped?”

  Jake pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “About a mile from where you found me.”

  “Did you see any sign of the guys who tore up your truck?”

  He hunched his shoulders against the storm. “No.”

  “As soon as we get to Dead Horse Canyon we’ll make camp. It’s not far. Only about another hour.” She glanced at the ominous sky. “I hope we can beat the weather, but I wouldn’t count on it. Better get on our rain gear.”

  The words were no more than out of her mouth that the skies opened up. They struggled into their slickers, holding them against the howling wind. Gato tried to turn his back to the pounding rain, but Castaña insisted he face the storm and press on. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Jake riding tight on Rojo’s heels. His chin was buried in the collar of his raincoat and his lips were pinched in a tight line. He had to be hurting, but he didn’t whine. Her admiration for him grew. She thought longingly of the fireplace back at the ranch. She’d love nothing more than to turn back and settle in by the flames for the evening. Having Jake beside her would be nice.

  For just a moment she indulged in fantasy—a nice glass of wine, his long body stretched out next to hers on a sheepskin rug, a few kisses—

  A crack of thunder snapped her back to reality as Gato jumped wildly, forcing her to jerk Rojo forward. Quickly bringing both horses under control, she blamed her lack of attention on the weather. Cloud’s eyes rolled and he tugged at his bit, but didn’t buck. “You okay?” she called to Jake.

  “Yeah,” Jake answered. “You?”

  “Fine.” She tapped the dun gelding with her heels. “Let’s get out of here.” The branches of the pine trees whipped in the wind, and the rain bit into her cheeks. She bent her head and forged ahead. At the end of Dead Horse Canyon stood a stone cabin and a corral that would hold the horses. Not only did she want to get there to hole up out of the storm, she wanted to see if there were any signs of Martin. It had been one of his favorite places to go when he was tracking mustangs. A herd used to live close by. Had they survived?

  The pines began to thin and the terrain became rocky. They were on the edge of the canyon. The trail down the side had to be close. Castaña lifted her chin and squinted her eyes against the downpour to look for the trailhead. She hadn’t been here in a long time and she didn’t want to miss it.

  There!

  Between two swaying trees, she recognized the path leading through a stand of cottonwoods. Wind tore at their faces as they rode along the edge of the canyon, working their way to the bottom. A trickle of icy water found its way between Castaña’s raincoat and her neck, causing her to shiver. Her hands felt like two lumps of ice on the reins and she flexed them in her leather gloves, forcing the circulation to keep moving. Gato slipped a little and Castaña prayed he’d keep his feet. Accustomed only to the arenas and flat trails of Sun Dial training facility, this was a challenge for her horses. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder at Cloud. He’d been born on this land, and Martin had ridden him everywhere.

  Finally, they dropped to the sandy wash in the bottom of the canyon. The wind was a little better here, but the cold didn’t let up. Urging the geldings to trot, Castaña leaned forward in her saddle, eager to dismount and warm up.

  Rounding a bend, she was relieved to see the hundred-year-old cabin snuggled against the canyon wall, nearly hidden under a grove of cottonwood and walnut trees. The square sandstone looked exactly the same as it always had. She jumped off Gato and led the horses toward the familiar dwelling. She heard Jake dismount behind her, but she didn’t turn around. “This is it.”

  “Good.” Relief rang in his voice.

  They tied the horses to some trees, and hurried inside. Castaña pulled a flashlight out of her coat pocket and flashed it around the interior. Rattlesnakes sometimes liked to shade up inside. None today, thank goodness. No musky scent of deer mice either. And no Martin.

  She swallowed her disappointment and stared at the table and bunks along the back wall someone had carved out of the red limestone. If he had been here, he’d left no sign other than a stack of wood by the fireplace that might have been there a week or a year. She moved that way. “I’ll build a fire,” Jake offered.

  “Great. I’ll bring in the panniers.”

  “I’ll help.”

  Together, they stepped out into the still shrieking wind and rain. She un-lashed the packs and they each dragged one inside.

  Jake started a fire. “This’ll keep while we unsaddle the horses.”

  They went into the rain, un-tacked the geldings and turned them into a small, grassy corral. Surrounded on three sides by the red canyon walls with a small stream winding through the middle, it was a perfect pen for horses.

  “This is a nice place,” Jake commented.

  “Yes, the BLM uses it to trap the mustangs now.” Castaña led the way back inside. She moved to the fire, peeled off her gloves and held her hands toward the flames. “Um, good.”

>   “How does Martin feel about the BLM using this place for that purpose?” Jake, too, warmed his palms over the heat. They stood side by side, and Jake’s nearness heated Castaña more than the fire. Her nipples pressed against her cotton T-shirt, and it was from more than the damp fabric.

  She thought about her brother’s reaction to the government using the cabin and pens. “It makes him crazy. He believed the canyon was once used by Apaches to pen their horses before the federal government took it over to trap mustangs. To him this is a sacred place, and the government is desecrating it.”

  “What do you think?”

  She could sense him studying her, but she kept her gaze toward the dancing fire. A lifetime of resentment bubbled up in her as she thought of all her father and brother had sacrificed for some scruffy, useless horses. “I think Martin should’ve paid more attention to the humans in his life than a bunch of worthless nags. Saving those horses took over my father’s life until it consumed him. And Martin is exactly the same.”

  Jake didn’t reply and she felt like she’d somehow failed a test. Tough. He had no idea how it felt to come second to a lost cause. She removed her coat and chaps and tossed them on the bottom bunk. As children, she and Martin had camped here many times. When had his sense of fun and adventure left him to be replaced by an all-encompassing fire to right the things he found wrong in the world? She supposed she should admire his passion, but why had she been left behind in the process?

  “What do you make of Briar Rose?” Jake opened the canvas bags and dug out a lantern. He lit the wick and placed the light in the middle of the table. Next, he found a pot, an opener and the can of stew she’d packed. He held it up. “Is this what you had in mind for dinner?”

  “Yes.” Her stomach grumbled and she realized she hadn’t eaten all day. While he opened the can, she hauled out the cooler and opened it. “There are rolls, cheese and butter, too. Even apple pie for dessert. What really sounds good is coffee. In the bottom there should be a pot, bottled water and grounds.”