Rugged and Restless

by Saylor Bliss

  “They are working on it, Mick! You have to hang on. If you give up, you —just don’t give up. Hold onto me.”

  “For long as I can, Angel.”

  “You stay! And when they get you out, I’ll be waiting for you! I keep my promises, Mick.”

  “Make one more promise, then. See Wyoming just once.”

  “We’ll see it together when you take me,” I said. “You can show me all the best places.”

  “But if I’m not with you, see it anyway, okay? I know you’ll love it there. And think of me when you see it the first time, okay? Promise.”

  “Promise.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot, stinging drops plopping onto the fists I pounded into my balled-up sweater.

  I came awake with a start. Memories of a night filled with perplexing secrets and feelings of being cherished surfaced. For once it wasn’t the man in my dreams plucking at my emotions. It was something —or rather someone else, someone very present in my life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Travis

  Grant hurled the broken padlock across the stable yard. Wood splintered when the lock struck the door to the stable. The black and white pup on his heels yipped and skittered sideways. Beyond the door, several horses called out in protest. One set of hooves connected with the wall a couple of times as though answering the call to arms. That would be Cloud, I wagered with a disapproving shake of my head.

  “Trying to finish what someone else started?” I asked.

  Grant’s blue streak of curses shattered the relative peace of the stable yard. “What’s the point of dumping all the feed?”

  Gus emerged from the feed shed shaking his head. “Good and wasted. They pissed in it, wet it down good, and then tossed shovelfuls of manure from the pit all through it. You’ll be lucky to salvage a handful.” He glanced at the dog, shaking his head. “Where were you last night, Patch?”

  As Patch covered his face with one paw, Grant snorted. “With Dad, probably at the foot of his bed.”

  “Dad lets dogs in the house?” I pushed my hat back and stared at the border collie.

  “Lets?” Grant choked back a laugh. “Hell, no, he sneaks him in every chance he gets, unless I get him first.”

  “I’ll be…” I whispered. My whole life, dogs had been relegated to the barn, had never been allowed in the house. “Guess things changed.”

  Gus cleared his throat. “I think we got us a situation.”

  “Yeah…” Grant scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s happening here?”

  I leveled a look at my brother. “You know the answer. This is personal.”

  “But why after all this time?” Grant kicked at the dirt beneath his boots.

  I blew out a breath, exhaustion catching up with me. “We’d have to crawl inside Bull’s head to figure that out.” I shook my own head. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that.”

  Christine

  Singing a song about lucky hearts with the stars on their side, I dashed down the stairs. It was an upbeat song, light and happy. Not my normally heavy sensuous choice, but it warmed my heart to sing it. I’d have to see how to fit it into my act. For the moment, however, I was ready to hit the day with a list of errands and a plan to take Cloud out for a short ride. And just maybe I’d be able to track Travis down. The light of day had reined in my insecurities.

  As I rounded the corner of the building and headed into the parking lot, my nose began to protest, and the song died in my throat. I would never understand what it was about being drunk that made a person decide to take a leak in a parking lot. Now I’d have to call one of the kids, who did landscaping for us, to spray down the sidewalk before we lost the lunch crowd to the odor. When my suspicions were confirmed by the sun glinting on the telltale crystalline residue along the side of my truck, I only rolled my eyes.

  “At least they could pee on their own ride.”

  I frowned at a whitish substance gunked across the hood. “What the heck is that?” Visions of people having raunchy sex on the hood of my vehicle presented themselves, turning my stomach. “Ew. This is just nasty,” I muttered to the empty parking lot. “And wrong. Get a room, folks.”

  As I reached for the door handle, the word WHORE carved in big block letters leaped out at me. “Geez…” Rolling my eyes, I slumped. “Great, we’re back in middle school.”

  It wasn’t worth repainting my rusty old truck, but I certainly couldn’t drive around town with that on my door. Something about the door’s angle was off, and I realized the truck was leaning. I’d paid good money to have the potholes graded out of the gravel parking lot, so it must be another flat.

  “Son of a bitch!” Was anything going to go right? I was going to have to invest in new tires all around, since they’d all seen better days. I couldn’t risk a blowout on a patch when I was driving the desolate roads out to the ranch or up to Jackson. I walked around the rear of the truck and ground to a halt.

  The deadly black blade sticking out of my tire was a pretty specific threat, not to mention incredibly intimidating as such things went.

  “Oh, wow.” Irritation turned to alarm and sent my heart into a tailspin of thumps against my chest. Did someone want to do that to me? I looked around uneasily. I couldn’t write it all off as a drunken prank any longer.

  No one was watching me as far as I could tell, but I did spot DC at Cross’s. If I could catch him before he left, I could save myself some waiting time. Ignoring the crosswalks, I made the direct trek diagonally through the intersection.

  DC looked up from his clipboard. “Christine, don’t be making me write you a ticket for jaywalking.” A wide grin took the sting out of his words.

  I surveyed the deserted road with disdain, then swept my gaze back in DC’s direction. I peered at him over the top of my sunglasses. “Don’t make me hurt you, DC. Not one car has gone by in the past fifteen minutes.”

  DC shrugged. “The law’s the law. What can I do for you?”

  “Someone did really disgusting things with bodily fluids all over my truck, carved some free advertising in the door, and then murdered one of the tires with a hunting knife. And in case that sounds a little too Chicken-Little-Sky-is-Falling for you, the knife’s still in the tire.”

  DC blinked, stared at me. He shoved his hat further back on his head. “Aw, geez, Christine. It’s too early in the day for this crap.”

  I examined the parking lot with a critical eye. An assortment of tires lay scattered, like oversized donuts, burning black in the strong morning sun. A tire rack was toppled, and one tire had been tossed onto the hood of an antique cherry-red Cadillac convertible. Mayor Bennett wouldn’t be thrilled with that.

  “What’s going on here? It looks like a baby giant had a temper tantrum.”

  But DC had gone silent. He cast a speculative look in the direction of the bar, then back at the chaos surrounding us. Frowning, he stooped, picked up a tiny tan cylinder, glancing back across the intersection as he stood. With a shake of his head, he walked a few feet and looked down again, then crouched to pick up another cylinder.

  “Heck of a thing, ain’t it?” Allan announced, joining me. “Got in here this morning and found all my new tire stock slashed. Never had to lock it up at night before. I knew he’d bring trouble, coming back here like he did.”

  I stared at the old auto mechanic. “I’m sorry, you lost me. Who brought trouble?”

  Allan shook his head, as though he couldn’t believe I didn’t already know. “Why, young McGee, of course.”

  Apparently, Allan Cross had already tried and convicted Travis.

  Irritation sparked. I fixed Allan with a narrow-eyed glare. “Mr. Cross, do you seriously think a responsible man in his thirties vandalized your shop?”

  The mechanic remained stubborn in his notion. “Just making the obvious connection. He’s back and now there’s trouble. The fire at Ed’s yesterday, now this.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and plugged one into his mouth, then pulled out an ancient silver lighter
with a fading U.S. Army emblem on the side.

  As the sunlight glinted off the lighter, I realized what DC had been plucking from the ground. Cigarette butts. “You know, Travis was having lunch with me and DC at my place when the fire started,” I argued. “He couldn’t have been responsible.”

  But there was no swaying Allan. “Someone with his know-how would be able to rig it for a delayed start.”

  Not enough coffee to process the input. I squinted at him, struggling to put it all together. “Know-how?”

  “Oh, yeah…” He became animated, using his hands and gathering momentum as he talked. “He used to work putting out fires on oil rigs, you know. Them fires most often get put out with explosives.”

  Actually, I hadn’t known what Trav had done while he’d been away, but fighting oil fires would have suited him. There would be no winning the argument, so I made a noncommittal sound and changed the subject.

  “Did they get all your stock?”

  Allan nodded his head. “Every last one of ’em.”

  “How soon can you get a replacement tire ordered up for me?” I asked.

  “For your truck? I can send Scott up to Jackson today, be ready to put it on tomorrow.” Allan leaned sideways and peered over my shoulder. “Why? Did you get hit, too?”

  I nodded without going into detail, though from the way his eyes strayed between his ruined tires and the parking lot across the street, Allan clearly would have appreciated the gossip.

  Fortunately, it became a nonissue when my cell phone signaled an incoming call. I checked the caller ID and answered with a smile. “Hey, Grant, what’s up?”

  “We need some supplemental feed. Were you still planning to stop by the feed store for Cloud’s blend?”

  “Actually, I’m going to be delayed.”

  “Delayed, huh?” Grant chuckled. “My brother’s out here at the ranch, so it can’t be good lovin’ delaying you.”

  Before I could think of an appropriate comeback, I heard the telltale oomph of breath being pushed from his lungs, probably with a gut punch. I winced for him. Then I heard a masculine voice in the background, and Grant was suddenly apologizing profusely.

  I laughed into the phone. “I’ll pick up your feed as soon as I can, Grant. Tell Rocky I’ll see him after I change a tire.”

  “What happened to your tire, Christine?” Grant asked sharply. I sighed, afraid I knew what would result when I answered. “I had a visitor last night who decided to leave a hunting knife in my rear tire. I’m here with DC now, so—” I broke off with another sigh as Grant relayed the information to his brother.

  “Travis’ll be there in forty minutes,” Grant said before the phone went dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Travis

  I made it to town in twenty-five minutes. As my car roared to a halt next to the sheriff’s cruiser in front of Cross’s, DC just shook his head.

  “Keep driving like that,” he said in a stern tone as I climbed out of my car, “I’m going to be forced to deputize you, just so you can write your own citations. You two are a pair.”

  I shot Christine a questioning look. “What did you do?”

  Christine shrugged, slid her sunglasses off her face, and hooked them into the front of her off-the-shoulder top. “I jaywalked at rush hour.”

  My gaze lingered on the front of her shirt, where she had parked the glasses. Then I looked at her face. Her eyes held no shadows, only a flash of temper. The tightness in my throat eased. My heart rate returned to normal, well as normal a pace it ever had in her presence.

  Little things edged into my awareness. How the breeze lifted the wisps of hair escaping from her loose ponytail. How the turquoise of her shirt contrasted with her caramel skin. How the shirtsleeves rode off her shoulders, exposing a path my lips remembered following all too well, while the rest of the fabric embraced the curves, I had yet to explore to my satisfaction. And… there went the heart rate again. Six inches or so of caramel delight above the waist of her low-rise jeans and below the hem of her shirt.

  A delicate gold lizard dangled from her belly button. I swallowed, but my throat was dry. Echoes of feelings from the night before stirred. She was the perfect blend of sexy and beautiful, and just being near her was a fantasy come true. But we had a lot to talk about, and I didn’t know when or where to begin.

  DC’s nudge broke into my contemplation. His mouth was moving, and presumably sounds were coming out, but nothing I could make sense of.

  I blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  With an exasperated sigh, DC rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have to look at Christine’s truck, get the knife out of the tire. But I’m guessing this is all connected.” He gestured to a cluster of evergreen bushes. “There’s a pile of cigarette butts on the ground over there, looks like almost a whole pack. Someone sitting just right wouldn’t be spotted from the road, but sure would have a good view of Valentine’s.”

  “Why would anyone be watching my bar?”

  Over Christine’s head, I met DC’s troubled eyes, reading in them what the sheriff was unwilling to say out loud. The violence was definitely escalating. And it was bleeding over to stain Christine’s life.

  “What happened, Christine?” I asked.

  “Oh, someone decided to leave a couple of calling cards in the form of various bodily fluids on my truck, along with a love note carved into the door. And then they murdered one of my tires with a hunting knife.” Her voice was drenched with sarcasm. She angled her head and met my gaze. “How’s your day been so far?”

  She was being flippant but she kept toying with the strap on her purse. She was definitely beginning to take things seriously. Good.

  “We had an incident with a broken lock and dumped feed.” I addressed my next words to the sheriff. “Still think it’s not personal, DC?”

  “Getting harder to discount that theory,” DC admitted. He motioned for us to follow him. “Heading to your place now, Christine.”

  On the walk to Valentine’s, DC made it a point to demonstrate the proper use of the crosswalk.

  “Whoo-ie!” DC muttered, about the time a distinctive sour stench greeted my nose. Screwing his face into an expression of disgust, he pointed at the sidewalk in front of the truck. “You two stay right there. I don’t want you messing up the crime scene.”

  While I stared at the messed-up truck, I balled my hands into fists I knew I would plow right into Bull’s ugly face, if my old adversary made the mistake of crossing paths with me any time soon. Relieving himself on Christine’s truck might have been the drunken act of settling the score with her for rejecting him Sunday night. Or it could have been a way of marking territory. Either way, it was a threat we couldn’t ignore. The single word labeling Christine’s character was gouged into the truck’s door, and it only added fuel to my slow burn. But it wasn’t about her; it was about me. The same way the crap at the ranch ultimately came back to me.

  DC had ordered me to remain on the sidewalk, but he hadn’t said anything about getting a better look at things from there. I took a couple of side steps and peered at the damaged tire.

  The sixteen-inch knife jammed in the sidewall sent my blood from fiery to icy in a heartbeat. Fury turned into fear for Christine’s life.

  Donning a latex glove, DC pulled the knife from the tire and popped it into an evidence bag. The last of the air in the tire escaped with a viperous hiss.

  The sheriff crouched and examined the puncture. “Looks like the same marks as the ones on Allan’s tires.” He touched the double-serrated blade near the hilt with the tip of one finger. “I’ll send this to the state folks. There’re some numbers etched here. They might be traceable to the owner. Maybe we hit it lucky when this guy left the knife behind.”

  Was it too much to hope that two people in the county might have the same knife? Yeah, because that was so likely. “Shit,” I whispered. Then I shook my head. “Nope, not so much. You’ll find those numbers will be my army serial num
ber.”

  Christine’s startled gaze shot over to me and she studied me, her features unreadable. Great. She was probably trying to determine if I was a sore loser who’d defiled her truck in retaliation for the brakes she’d put on our romantic interlude. Sighing, I grimaced at DC and rattled off the digits from memory.

  “Damn moth—” Red stained DC’s face as he bit off the rest of his streak and slid a glance at Christine. “Sorry.” He turned and squared off with me. “You want to explain what your damn knife is doing in Miss Christine’s tire here? Or do we need to go to the office for a discussion?”

  I held my old friend in a long glare, but DC didn’t budge, just stood there balancing the damning knife across my palm, one eyebrow cocked upward in query. So that was the way it would go down?

  The breeze shifted and the fetid odor intensified. Trying not to gag, I drew a shallow breath and broke the stare. “The last time I saw it was at the Hawk MC. I used it in the tack room the other night when I was doing some leather work.” Picturing Bull’s face, I balled my right hand into a fist, grinding it against the palm of my left. “That son of a bitch Bull probably took it when he ruined our feed.”

  DC nodded at the fist. “Calm down, McGee. We’ll sort this all out. But the fact is, we got no actual suspect here. Not yet.”

  My blood pounded in my ears as the anger I’d kept in check exploded. “What the hell! DC, you know this was all Bull. What else do you need?”

  Christine gasped and stepped forward but then clamped her mouth shut. “Catching someone in the act would make a nice tidy case.” DC scratched his chin. “But for starters, conclusive evidence would prove helpful. Maybe we’ll find fingerprints on the knife. But officially, Trav, I can only consider him a person of interest based on the history between your families, the incident here last Friday, and what happened last night. And since the knife turns out to be yours, that puts you and yours on the short list as much as Bull, maybe a tad higher.” DC’s tense jaw belied his calm voice.