CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  But her eyes didn't stay on the children; they studied every face of every man she passed. There were more than eight thousand people here. She could easily eliminate a large number of men, those who were too old, too young, a smiling man balancing a toddler on his knee. And still, she had no shortage of suspects. Who would have thought that so many people went to the blasted rodeo?

  It was time for the last round of bull riding, and Clint was on the arena floor again. She could fight it all she wanted, but the truth of the matter was she loved the way he moved, so strong and unexpectedly graceful, in his cleats and shredded jeans and suspenders. Foolish man! Playing with bulls. What was he thinking? He could stay on his horse ranch. He didn't need to do this. So why did he continue to come back year after year? What was he trying to prove?

  Men.

  "Mary, Mary." The soft, dark voice calling her name came from the shadows surrounding an exit.

  "Who's there?" She stepped toward the exit.

  "Quite contrary." Standing out of the light's glare, she could see that the man calling her name was Oliver Brisco, who wore a strange half smile.

  The man gave her the creeps. That wasn't a particularly professional observation, but if she had a single female instinct, Oliver Brisco set it on edge. "Surely you could get a better seat," she said casually.

  "I prefer to watch from up here," he answered. "I've seen the rodeo before. All my life, in fact. It's the crowd that interests me."

  Was he looking for victim number nine? "It is an interesting group of people," she said.

  "The kids really love it," Brisco answered. "And there are always a few people in the crowd who have never seen a cowboy on a bucking horse or a bull, or seen a trick rider. Their eyes light up and they hold their breath … it's a whole new experience for them."

  That explanation didn't sound particularly ominous, but Brisco could be covering his real reason for standing up here so high, lost in the shadows while he watched the faces.

  Mary's heart thundered. Was she carrying on a conversation with the man who had killed Elaine and seven other women?

  "Thanks for letting me do this," she said, taking a single step closer.

  "Don't thank me until I decide whether or not you'll go any further than this weekend's performances." He smiled at her. "So far, so good. The kids seem to like you."

  It was a good thing she hadn't bopped that one little boy over the head with a balloon wiener dog. Apparently Brisco had been watching.

  "What does your family think of your new career?" Brisco asked, shifting his feet.

  Her heart thumped. Was he leading her? Pressing to find out more about her personal life? Maybe he was just curious, but she didn't think so. It definitely wasn't friendly conversation. Brisco didn't do friendly.

  "I don't have any family," she said softly. As far as Brisco knew, she had to be easily expendable. Just in case nothing else worked, just in case she had to put herself out there as a potential victim.

  His smile died. "I'm sorry to hear that. Surely there's someone special who wonders why on earth you decided to become a rodeo clown for the summer."

  "No."

  He stared at her, openly suspicious.

  A bit of truth was called for, maybe, in order to convince him. "I don't have good luck with men. I was married, a few years ago." A tingle worked its way up her spine. "He died. It's easier to just…" Be alone, be safe, keep her heart tucked in close and shielded. "Since then I keep to myself, for the most part."

  "You were burned and decided it's better to be alone than to expose yourself to the flames again."

  Mary nodded.

  "I know how you feel," Brisco said in a low voice. "Though it was a divorce that scorched me, not death."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He shrugged his shoulder, dismissing her concern. "What about Clint? Surely there's more between you two than meets the eye."

  Mary shook her head. "No. If his sister hadn't begged him to drag me along, he would have dumped me out on the side of the road miles away from Birmingham. I think I kinda get on his nerves."

  There was a shout from the crowd, and Mary turned just in time to see Clint lead the bull on a merry chase. Her heart leapt unpleasantly. The man had no common sense at all!

  "I don't think he even likes…" She turned, just in time to see the exit door swinging shut. Oliver Brisco was gone.

  * * *

  He was distracted, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. The new girl. Mary. At the moment she didn't look at all like the kind of girl he liked to target, but this afternoon … this afternoon he had seen her everywhere he turned. Blond hair, pale and soft. Blue eyes, so beautiful. She had a feminine shape that made him ache to touch her.

  No earrings, though, he thought sourly. And she was a part of the rodeo. That would never do. She had shown up with Sinclair, and while they weren't side by side all the time, he had seen them together often enough to know that if Mary disappeared, Sinclair would miss her right away.

  No, best to stick to his original plan. It had worked for the past four years, it would work this year.

  But she distracted him, when he should be searching the crowd for another victim. He was very particular. He only allowed himself two kills per tour, and so the women he chose had to be perfect. The hair, that was most important. The earrings. No matter how shy and quiet a woman might pretend to be, when she wore a certain kind of earring she was shouting out to be noticed.

  Once he saw the right kind of woman in the crowd, he had to make sure she was alone. Not only alone, but lonely. A few words, that's usually all he needed to ascertain that the woman suited him and his plans well. There was a desperation in the eyes of the right woman, a hunger.

  No one would miss them when they didn't go home, and he needed them, so much.

  If the new girl continued to be distracting, he'd have to get rid of her. One way or another.

  * * *

  "You have absolutely no common sense," Mary said for at least the fifth time since they'd climbed into the truck to head back to the hotel. She still wore her costume, he still wore his. There were a few other rodeo folks in the lobby, but when Clint and Mary stepped into the elevator they were alone. "For God's sake, Sinclair, why didn't you just kiss the bull! You were close enough."

  "Yeah, but he smelled bad," Clint answered.

  Mary gave him a censuring glare. "You were too close."

  "I thought you knew very well what a bullfighter did," Clint said as the elevator began to ascend.

  "On film and in person is not the same," she insisted. Unexpectedly, she smiled.

  "I see by your happy grin that my lack of common sense pleases you," Clint said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the hallway.

  "It proves that you're not perfect," she said. "I knew you had a flaw."

  "Trust me, I have plenty."

  She opened her door and he opened his. The connecting door between those two rooms was standing partially open, just as they'd left it.

  Mary reached out to swing the door shut, but Clint's quick had stopped her. "Leave it open," he insisted.

  "Dammit, Sinclair," she muttered. "I like my privacy. Especially since I'll probably have to shower for an hour to remove the face paint, sweat and the odor. I smell like your barn, only worse." She lifted her sleeve to her nose. "I smell like a farm animal. I probably smell every bit as bad as that bull you slapped on the nose. Does this odor wash out?"

  "Close the bathroom door," he said. "But leave this one open." He didn't have to repeat his earlier threat to tell all to Brisco.

  "Yeah, sure, why not," she muttered as she walked away.

  * * *

  Makeup removed and face freshly scrubbed, Mary stood at the sink, eyes pinned on her own reflection, and tried to make her heart stop pounding. In the privacy of her own room, she didn't have to put on a happy smile and pretend she hadn't been shaken tonight.

  She didn't need this kind of aggravation. S
he couldn't take it. To watch Clint purposely put himself in danger tore her apart in a way she thought was impossible. No one made her weep or long for what she did not have. If she didn't care too much, she couldn't get hurt.

  Logically, she knew she shouldn't care what happened to Clint. Emotionally, she knew she didn't dare get involved.

  So why did she want nothing more than to walk through the connecting door and into his room, go to Clint and hold him? That's all she wanted. She wanted to hold him and tell him not to take foolish risks with his life… Mary closed her eyes. Her hands shook, and her heart did not stop pounding.

  Her reaction was extreme, considering what had happened in the arena tonight, and she knew that. But when she had seen Clint hit the bull her heart had nearly come through her chest.

  Mary undressed slowly and turned on the water, hoping maybe the long shower she'd told Clint she wanted would help. Maybe she could wash away all the anxiety she didn't want to face head-on.

  She prided herself on never being afraid, and here she stood, still trembling and worried over something that was an everyday part of Clint's job. He was a bullfighter. And he wasn't hers to worry about.

  * * *

  When Clint stepped out of the shower, he heard the water in the next room still running. Maybe Mary hadn't been kidding about showering for an hour.

  He stepped into a clean pair of jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt, and turned on the television, the sound low so he could hear what was going on in Mary's room.

  He was tempted to toss Mary over his shoulder and carry her … somewhere. Anywhere. Some safe place where there were no serial killers, no rapists who had a thing for pretty blondes. Why couldn't she be more agreeable? More reasonable? And she thought he had no common sense.

  There was one chair in the room. Clint sat in it and pretended to watch television. The local news was over, and he was stuck with pretending to watch a late-night talk show, while out of the corner of his eye he watched the crack in the door between his room and Mary's.

  The shower in her room stopped and was followed a moment later by the sound of her hair dryer. Every nerve in Clint's body was tense, wound so tight he felt as if he were about to explode. He was usually pretty wound up after a rodeo, but this was different. This was Mary, in his blood, in his mind all the time. How the hell was he going to get her out?

  He was a little surprised when the door swung open and she stepped into his room. She was perfectly decent in her thick, shapeless robe. He could even see the hem of a plain nightgown beneath. This wasn't a woman dressed for seduction.

  Her toenails were red, he noticed as she walked into the room.

  "How do you sleep after a performance?" she asked. "All I did was make balloon animals and juggle and show kids how to use those trick ropes, and right now I can't imagine sleeping."

  "Give it a little while. You'll crash soon enough."

  "I suppose." She sat on the edge of his made bed, and the bottom half of her robe parted, revealing a perfectly prim and proper nightgown. She crossed her ankles, teasing him with those red toenails. "I saw Boone and his wife, Jayne, tonight," she said.

  "So did I."

  "The two of them, they're so … so…"

  "Perfect." Clint supplied the word Mary had been searching for. He couldn't stand to have her here like this, freshly scrubbed and ready for bed and smiling softly. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

  Her smile faded. "I just wanted to thank you. Maybe talk about the rodeo while I wind down."

  "Don't thank me," he said, turning his gaze to the television he hadn't been paying attention to. "And you'll wind down before you know it."

  She stood slowly. "I don't think so," she whispered.

  He wanted Mary close, he wanted that damned door to stay open so he could hear her, know she was only moments away … but unless she wanted to spend the night here in his bed, she needed to get out of his sight. Damned if he couldn't smell her.

  And she smelled so good.

  Instead of walking to her own door, Mary came straight to him. "Thank you," she said softly.

  Clint looked up at her. How could a woman be tough as nails one minute and look at him this way the next? She tried to hide it, but he saw the vulnerability in her, he saw the scared girl inside the confident woman.

  "About last night…" she said. She didn't turn or walk away, but stood right there before him.

  "I don't think we should talk about last night."

  "I just don't want you to think … it's been a very long time since I…" She blushed. "I don't sleep around," she said too quickly.

  "Why not?" he asked, intent on driving her away before he did something they would both regret. "You're a grown woman, a decidedly modern woman who can do everything any man can do, and I suppose that includes sleeping around if the mood strikes you."

  It should be enough to send her running, but it didn't work. She didn't budge. "I was married," she whispered.

  Clint's heart sank, a little. They had never really talked about her personal life. Mary Paris was all about her job; nothing else seemed to matter to her. "Was," he repeated. "You got divorced?"

  Mary shook her head, gently but very quick. "He died." She had a difficult time saying the words. Two little words, and they came out a hoarse whisper, as if they didn't want to pass through her throat without fighting all the way.

  His heart broke for her. He felt it, as if something physically altered in his chest. To get dumped was one thing; it happened to just about everyone. But to lose someone that way… "I'm so sorry."

  She didn't cry, but it seemed her eyes grew brighter. "His name was Rick, and he's been gone a little more than two years now. He was crossing the street to get coffee at this little shop, and a drunk driver ran him down." She shook her head. "Such a stupid way to die. So incredibly senseless."

  From where he sat, he could reach out and touch her. Should he? Or would she fall apart if he were so bold as to try to comfort her?

  "Since then, there hasn't been … anyone. And then I met you, and now I feel like my life has been turned upside down. I know I come on too strong sometimes, and I've been … confused. Not about the case," she said quickly and assuredly. "But about us, I'm confused. If there is an us. Sometimes I think there is no us, and then I watch you doing something incredibly stupid like popping a bull on the nose, and I know that whether I like it or not, there's … something."

  "There's most definitely something," he said, his voice lower and softer than it had been before.

  Mary's time to run had come and gone. Clint reached up and snagged her wrist, and with a gentle tug he pulled her onto his lap. She laded on his thigh with a gentle thump. He expected her to jump up, indignant and blushing, but she didn't.

  "Last night…" she began.

  "It was a mistake," Clint interrupted tersely. "I guess it's a good thing I had an attack of honesty, or else—"

  "It wasn't a mistake," Mary said. "I didn't lose control, I wasn't swept off my feet and out of my mind by the meteor shower or the kiss or anything else." She licked her lips. He had never seen Mary hesitant before, but she seemed almost timid as she reached out to touch his shirt with feathery fingers. "I don't know exactly what happened."

  He knew exactly what had happened. They'd been spending a lot of time together, working, laughing, and all that time something had been building inside him. "I wanted you last night," he said. "I still want you." Maybe that would scare her into her own little room.

  "I wanted you, too," she said. "It's that simple. The timing is wrong, you're not my type and I'm not yours, I should be concentrating on solving the murders and nothing else." She lifted her eyes to his. "I was so sure I would never feel this way again. Never. Tonight, when I watched you hit a bull on the nose and then play with him, I was so worried. I don't get worried, Sinclair," she said. "Not about anybody. You drive me absolutely crazy."

  Clint could think of a hundred reasons why he should send Mary on her way. There were e
qually good reasons, however, why he should keep her right here.

  He liked her, he felt this growing need to keep her near and safe, and he needed her more than he'd ever needed anything.

  * * *

  Clint grabbed one end of the belt of her robe and slowly pulled. It came undone and her robe fell open.

  There was so much she hadn't told him, so many things she was afraid to say.

  She was afraid of so much, and being close to him took those fears away. Far, far away. When he kissed her, nothing else mattered much. When he touched her, she forgot why she had been so determined to keep him at a distance.

  She hadn't lied when she'd told Clint she didn't sleep around. Not before Rick or after had she ever seen sex as entertainment. A few of her father's old-fashioned teachings had taken too well. She didn't cook, she didn't clean unless she had no choice and she could do any job any man could do.

  But sex without love was a sad thing, indeed.

  She'd made a lot of bad decisions in her life, and there were times she would have done anything, paid any price, to go back in time and fix her mistakes. But she had never slept with a man she didn't love. She'd never thought of sex as sport or casual or meaningless. Two people coming together was important, it did mean something. But it had been a long time, and she was so scared. Deep down, dry-mouth scared.

  She didn't fool herself into thinking that Clint loved her. And maybe what she felt for him was just gratitude and infatuation, not love at all. This was a kinship between two very different people. An unexpected friendship.

  Call it love or not, the affection was there, dancing between them, teasing them with what might be and what might never be. It was more than passion, more than physical.

  And she didn't want to be alone tonight.

  Clint slipped his hand into her open robe, cupping her breast while he kissed her deep. Mary placed her hands on his face, touched him while they kissed, while he caressed her. She said she didn't lose control, that she didn't get swept away … but that's what was happening to her right now. The world went away, and there was just Clint and her and the way their bodies came together.