"I considered it," Clint said easily. "But you would have been a third, not a replacement for Sam. I thought we were clear about that."
Mary decided she wasn't going to argue with Clint, no matter how much she wanted to. Sweetness was one thing. These pens of bulls, many of them much larger than she'd imagined they would be, were another entirely. At the moment she was quite happy to be Mary Mary Quite Contrary, juggler and maker of balloon animals.
She hadn't actually made balloon animals in years, but she was pretty sure the skill would come back to her quickly.
Now that she was in the midst of the Brisco Rodeo, thanks to Clint, Mary ran down her list of suspects. Oliver Brisco topped the list, he was number one. But until she had more evidence he was not the only possibility. At this point, any man who could be placed at the rodeo on the dates corresponding with the murders was a suspect.
At the present time, none of the athletes—the bull riders, bronc riders and calf ropers—were on her list. She hadn't been able to place any one of them in all six cities at the right times, and besides … they seemed to go directly from one rodeo to another, very often riding in more than one rodeo in a weekend. They also usually traveled in groups of two and three, and the man she was looking for worked alone.
Eliminating the athletes didn't leave her with a shortage of suspects. There were two members of the management staff who had been here for the past four years or more, as well as a lighting director and an announcer. Erwin Connors, who rode a dancing horse, had also been with the Brisco Rodeo for more than four years. At fifty-two years old he didn't top her list, but she wasn't ready to eliminate anyone. Not yet. Eugene Hitt, the barrel clown, was also on her list, though he, too, was older than the profile indicated her killer to be. Still, profiles had been wrong before.
Then there was Sam. Clint had been with the Brisco Rodeo for three years, but James Grady, Sam to his friends, apparently, had started here four years ago. Right before the murders began.
Brisco, his management, the lighting director, the man with the dancing horse, the announcer and the clowns. One of them was a cold-blooded killer.
* * *
Three of them were crowded into one room of a trailer that had seen better days. Sam slept in a back room of the trailer, preferring to stay close to the animals when he traveled with the rodeo. He said he hated hotels and would prefer a cardboard box. The trailer was a little better than a box.
One room was devoted to a big mirror, a rack for costumes and a table laden with greasepaint.
Mary was already mingling with the crowd, handing out trick ropes to the kiddies as they arrived. Once the ropes were gone she'd entertain them with balloon animals. Juggling would come later.
She should be perfectly safe … but he didn't like it. Not at all.
If he was smart, he'd walk away. Now. Tonight. He didn't need to get caught up in Mary Paris's problems. His life was simple these days, and if he occasionally wished for more he remembered how easily the simplest of plans could be blown apart.
Until this year, he had never really connected his decision not to ride again to what had happened after. Tonya and the bull that had thrown him had become one. One mess, one step back he didn't dare take.
He suspected turning his back on Mary wouldn't be an easy thing. In fact, he was pretty sure that it would be damn near impossible.
Clint applied a quick smear of white greasepaint on his face, just as Sam did.
"Okay," Sam said as he worked before the mirror. "Who's the girl?"
"I told you—"
"A friend of your sister," Eugene interrupted. "Sorry, Sinclair. I don't buy it."
"Neither do I," Sam said.
Sam was not yet twenty-five years old, but he'd been rodeoing all his life. He was a damn good bullfighter and a decent person. Eugene was a family man, fifty years old, potbellied and constantly smiling. Neither of them were capable of the crimes Mary suspected them of. He was so tempted to tell them why she was really here.
He didn't keep Mary's secret because he was afraid of making her mad or because he thought she might be right. He kept her secret because she trusted him, and to tell anyone of her deception would be a betrayal of that trust.
He liked Mary more than he'd liked a woman in a very long time. Still, they didn't have much of a chance, he knew that. If he blew this investigation for her, they'd have no chance at all.
He sat in a rickety chair and put on his cleats, tying them good and tight. "Sorry, fellas. That's all it is. She's a friend of Shea's, and that's it."
"Eugene tells me you actually thought about putting her in the arena," Sam said with a wide grin. "Have you lost your mind?"
"It's what she wanted," Clint said with a shrug as he stood. "I tried to accommodate her, but I eventually had to tell her that she just wasn't good enough."
Sam whistled. "She doesn't strike me as the type who would take that news well."
Clint grinned. "She didn't."
Forty-five minutes until the rodeo got under way, and he was antsy as hell. Mary was sure her culprit was living and working right here in the rodeo. He was just as sure that her man could be one of the many faces in the crowd.
And she was out there all alone.
"I'm going for a walk," he said, heading for the door.
"You never stroll around the arena before the bull riding gets started!" Sam protested with a smile.
"I think there's a little redheaded freckle-faced clown out there calling Clint's name," Eugene teased.
"Maybe I just need some fresh air."
Sam made some comment about what he thought Clint needed, as the door to the trailer closed.
Cowboys were arriving, paying their fees and getting their back numbers. Clint knew many of them, and he definitely knew most of the bull riders. There were a few new faces, though. Young, expectant faces. Most of them would end up eating dirt tonight. It was his job to make sure that was the worst that happened.
Bull riding was a dangerous sport. Eight seconds might not seem like a long time, but when you're sitting on the back of a bucking bull that can weigh up to two thousand pounds, those seconds can seem like an eternity. Sitting on the back of a bull was like being caught in a tornado. You held on tight and prayed, and for eight seconds, if you were lucky, you had the ride of your life.
He made his way to the front of the arena and positioned himself behind a souvenir stand where he could see Mary but she could not see him.
He couldn't help but smile as he watched her. His own face paint was sparse. White on his cheeks and across the nose, a little on the forehead. The rest of his costume was put together with his job in mind—not entertainment. The cutoff jeans were in shreds, allowing him freedom of movement, and the knee-length pants beneath those jeans were tight but not binding. No matter what, he had to be able to move. The cleats he wore allowed him to make quick turns and twists without slipping. True, the shirt was bright red and was decorated with yellow polka dots, and the suspenders were just as bright. But his hair was his own and his black cowboy hat fit him well. He wasn't just a clown, he was a bullfighter.
Mary, on the other hand, was a clown. Her face was painted, as he had taught her, in white and red. Even her nose was painted red. She sported big, painted-on freckles. The wig was red, with long braided pigtails that went this way and that. Her shirt was rainbow colored and striped, her suspenders red, her pants baggy.
She even wore the big shoes.
To look at her you would never know that underneath that costume was a beautiful, exciting, arousing woman who had crawled under his skin and was currently making him crazy.
Mary wasn't his type. He knew it, she knew it. Nothing could come of this … but it wasn't over between them. There was too much left undone and unsaid. When this was all over with, when she'd caught her serial killer and was off the job, he was going to get her back under the stars again.
She handed out trick ropes and shook hands with the little kids who weren't te
rrified of her. What was it with some kids? Clowns were fun, right? But there were always a few who were scared, kids who grabbed on to their mama's skirts and held on tight.
When she turned this way, Clint stepped back and into the shadows. Mary needed someone to watch her back, but she would never admit to such a thing. He'd keep an eye on her when he could, keep close tabs on her at all times. But he absolutely, positively could not let her know he was watching.
* * *
Bull riding was the first event … and the last. The rodeo opened with one half of the riders and ended with the other half. Mary, who was already dizzy from blowing up those blasted narrow balloons, found a semiquiet place to stand and watch as the event was announced.
The announcer introduced the riders, and each one received hearty applause. Clint and Sam were introduced last, and they walked into the arena waving their cowboy hats. Clint's was black. Sam's had once been white.
It wasn't fair. She looked like an idiot! Clint looked sexy as all get out, face paint and all.
The Brisco Rodeo Queen was announced. Melanie Anne Dunlap. She rode slowly through the arena on a beautiful white horse, making a wide circle. Just as Mary had suspected, she had big hair—red in this case—and was quite familiar with the royal wave. She wore lots of fringe, which went well with the hair. A large number of males in the crowd hooted appreciatively.
That done, Eugene Hitt was introduced, and he walked into the arena and toward the red barrel in the center of the ring, waving at the crowd. He was dressed like Elvis, complete with potbelly, white rhinestone jumpsuit and exaggerated sideburns. For him, the crowd went nuts. As he walked to the barrel he told an old groaner of a joke. Everyone laughed.
Mary held her breath as the first bull and rider came out of gate four. It was all over too fast. The bull bucked, the rider flew off and landed in the dirt, and Clint and Sam safely herded the loping, riderless bull through the exit gate. This was the dangerous work Clint said she couldn't handle? She was insulted all over again.
The second bull and rider, coming out of gate two, were a repeat of the first event. The announcer bellowed, "Bulls two, cowboys zero," as the bull exited the arena.
Blowing up all those skinny balloons was more dangerous than this.
Then the third bull and rider shot out of gate five. The bull bucked, but this rider managed to stay on for eight seconds, until the buzzer sounded. The crowd cheered. The cowboy dismounted.
And the bull turned on him. This animal was not going to exit gracefully. Clint and Sam tried to get the bull's attention, but the huge, angry animal had decided to chase the man who had ridden him, and would not be easily distracted.
Until Clint ran up and popped the bull on the nose.
Again, Mary held her breath. Her heart lurched in her chest. What was he thinking? You didn't hit a bull in the face! He'd said he would do just that when she'd met Sweetness, but the beast in the ring was not Sweetness! The bull did turn his attention to Clint, and Sam helped a limping cowboy to safety while Clint played getaway, cutting this way and that. The crowd loved it. Clint was toying with the bull—or else the bull was toying with Clint. It was difficult to tell.
Finally, Clint led the lumbering animal to the exit gate and it obediently left the arena. The crowd applauded. Mary found an empty seat and sat down. Hard. She could never again call him Giggles.
"Mary?"
She turned, tilted her head back and saw a familiar face staring down at her; a grinning Boone Sinclair with his very pregnant wife on his arm.
"I told you that was her," Jayne Sinclair said with a smile. "How are you?"
Fine was not a sufficient answer. Her heart pounded too hard. There was a short delay in the arena. Eugene was telling more bad jokes, and the crowd loved it. Finally Mary said, "Did you see what he just did?" She should stand to face Boone Sinclair and his wife, but her knees were shaking too badly to even think about standing.
"This is your first night, right?" Boone asked. "That wasn't anything unusual. Sometimes things get really hairy out there."
That wasn't really hairy? What did it take to alarm these people?
"You're his older brother," she said in a lowered voice. "Can't you make him stop?"
Boone laughed. "No. Clint loves what he does too much. I wouldn't dare ask him to give it up."
Mary took a deep breath. He loved playing with angry bulls. There it was, revealed at last. She had seen Clint's defect, the flaw she had been so diligently looking for.
The man obviously didn't have a lick of common sense.
* * *
Between the rounds of bull riding, Clint usually sat in Sam's trailer. Not tonight. Tonight he wandered the arena until he saw Mary. A few kids gathered around, some of them wanting his autograph in their program. He obliged, keeping a cautious eye on Mary Mary Quite Contrary.
Occasionally his eyes scanned the crowd. Was the man she hunted out there somewhere? At least when she was in costume she didn't fit the type of victim the killer was targeting. And still … he didn't like it.
He saw Boone coming from two sections over. Jayne, who now officially waddled, was with him. Clint stepped back, into a nook between sections, and waited for his brother to join him. From here, he could still see Mary.
"I didn't figure we'd see you until after this shindig was over," Boone said.
When he was in Birmingham, Boone was usually at every performance. If you asked Boone if he liked the rodeo you'd get a very quick no. But he was always here.
"Just stepped out of the trailer for a breath of fresh air," Clint said.
Jayne wrinkled her nose. "This is fresh air?"
Clint grinned. "Just wait until Sunday afternoon, after we've been here for four days."
Amber and Tiffany were performing and had everyone's attention. Including Mary's, from what he could see. The twins were amazing. They'd been riding since they could walk, and could do the most amazing acrobatics on the back of a racing horse.
"You're missing it," he said to Jayne, nodding to the arena floor.
She turned her eyes to the performance. "How on earth do they do that?" Again she wrinkled her nose. "I can barely make it up and down the stairs."
"How much longer?" Clint asked.
"Five weeks," Boone said.
"And two days," Jayne added. "Unless I deliver early. I could deliver early." She sounded hopeful.
She leaned against Boone and watched the twins in the arena below.
"I've been instructed to encourage you to quit this dangerous business," Boone said to Clint, while Jayne watched the show.
"Shea again?" Clint asked.
"Nope. Your little FBI agent," he said in a lowered voice.
"Mary?"
Boone nodded. "She was quite concerned." His eyebrows lifted in silent question.
Clint ignored that question. "If she heard you calling her my little FBI agent, she'd kick your ass." He kept his voice as low as Boone's. No one could know that Mary was a fed. Her life would really be in danger then.
"Bring her over for an early dinner, one night while y'all are in town."
"Yeah," Jayne said. "I order Chinese really well these days."
Clint grinned at his sister-in-law. Talk about a woman not being someone's type! He never in a million years would have imagined Jayne, senator's daughter and real Southern lady, and Boone as a couple. But they were so happy together. Boone even seemed content.
"Maybe," Clint said. "I'd love to spend some time with y'all, but I'm not sure I can drag Mary away from the rodeo for even a few hours." He found her again, watched her show a kid who couldn't be more than five years old how to use his new trick rope.
"And I won't leave her here alone."
Boone left Jayne watching the acrobatics on horseback and pulled Clint into the shadows. "Are you sleeping with her?" he asked without preamble.
"Of course not," Clint answered without a change of facial expression or tone of voice. Very cool. Very nonchalant.
"Liar."
"Not this time," Clint said, again without emotion.
"Well, when you do sleep with her, please be careful." Boone glanced back to Mary, and then looked Clint up and down. He popped one of Clint's striped suspenders. "Very careful. If you two reproduce, the poor kid would have very big feet and horrible taste in clothes."
"You're the one who's reproducing, not me," Clint said with a grin. "And speaking of fashion sense…" He looked his older brother up and down as critically as Boone had studied his bullfighter attire. "Do they make black clothes for babies? Or do most people not want their children dressing like undertakers?"
Boone scowled. "Don't change the subject." He glanced at Jayne. "Everything is pink," he whispered. "Everything! Clothes, walls, little shoes." He held his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. "Tiny pink shoes."
"And you're loving every minute of it." It wasn't a blind guess. Boone's dark eyes positively twinkled when he talked about the baby. It was downright unnatural.
Big brother smiled. "Yeah, I am."
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Mary handed the blue balloon animal to the little boy who had requested it. Instead of saying thank you, the kid sneered.
"This isn't a horse!"
Mary continued to smile. "Of course it is."
"It looks like a wiener dog."
Didn't all balloon animals kook like wiener dogs? "You have to use your imagination," Mary said calmly.
The boy snorted, and after a moment's consideration gave the balloon sculpture a squeeze that made it burst with a loud pop.
At least the child found that destruction entertaining. He laughed gleefully.
Annoyed but silently reminding herself it was part of the job, Mary moved on. She listened to bits and pieces of conversations, searched for a face that did not belong with the others. There were so many families here, so many excited teenagers. It should be easy to spot her killer in the throng, but she knew it wouldn't be. If the man she was looking for was one of the crowd, she'd never find him. She sauntered along the concrete mezzanine walkway, her eyes scanning the multitude of faces. She waved at the kids who waved at her and smiled widely as she handed out the already-made balloon animals that hung from her belt.
CLINT'S WILD RIDE Page 10
