CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Clint was afraid it didn't really matter how capable she was, not this time.

  "Looks like a decent crowd, and there's still forty-five minutes until showtime," he said. "Not bad for a Thursday."

  Oliver ignored the business chitchat. His eyes were trained on Mary, just as Clint's were. "I thought you said she wasn't your girlfriend."

  "She wasn't," Clint said succinctly. "Things change, though."

  "That they do," Oliver said thoughtfully. "Care for a little advice from someone who's older and wiser?"

  "Sure." Clint's heart started to pound.

  "What's on the outside isn't always a good indication of what's on the inside," Oliver said in a lowered voice, "especially where women are concerned. I was taken in by a pretty face and a come-hither smile once. It got ugly in the end. Be careful."

  Was that a warning or a friendly word of caution? "I'll be careful."

  Oliver nodded.

  Brett Brisco, dressed in jeans that appeared to be brand new and shiny boots that looked like they had to hurt his feet, rushed up with a notepad in hand. "We have a problem."

  "What?" Oliver turned his full attention to his cousin.

  "We've lost two bull riders for tomorrow night. One has a broken collarbone, and the other one has a family funeral."

  "Dammit, I hate to run short again." Oliver looked at Clint and grinned. "What about you, Sinclair? Ride one more time. Impress the new girlfriend. Maybe make a little money. The pot will be good tomorrow night."

  "No, thanks," Clint said.

  "Why not?"

  "When I'm an old man, I'd like to be able to get out of bed on my own when morning rolls around."

  Oliver laughed. "If you change your mind, let me know."

  "Will do."

  The two Briscos walked away, heads together, and Clint looked up at Mary again. How was he going to watch her twenty-four/seven?

  * * *

  She was here. The bitch was actually here!

  He stared at the audience members who sat directly on the rail, near the chutes. He wasn't surprised that she had a good seat. She'd always demanded the best. Was she alone tonight? Or was that man next to Kristin her date?

  His insides churned, his vision blurred. It had always been this way. He looked at her and he saw nothing else. No one else. She became his whole world, in a flash. She was so beautiful still. It was as if she had a sheen about her, a glow that no other woman had.

  He still loved her. The last time he'd seen her, she'd laughed at him. Right in his face, she'd laughed at him. His world had come crashing down then, as she'd stood there and laughed in his face and told him things he didn't want to know. How was it possible to love someone and hate them at the same time?

  Kristin Brisco was here in Huntsville, right under his nose and watching the rodeo as if she had a right to be here. As if she wasn't here to stir up trouble.

  None of the others had ever compared to her, though he'd tried to pretend they did. They had been substitutes. Poor, pale substitutes. A bull rider was thrown and ran for the fence. Sam and Clint danced with the bull and led it to the gate. And Kristin laughed. The man next to her glanced her way and laughed. Yes, they were together. He was sure of it now.

  She turned her head, and dangling gold earrings sparkled in the light.

  * * *

  Freshly showered and dressed for bed in demure pajamas, Mary felt a little better than she had earlier tonight. Her heart still pounded too hard, her brain would not be still. But deep inside she felt the beginning seeds of calm. She was close, he was here. She'd been right all along.

  "Hi." She stopped in the open doorway between the connecting rooms. Clint reclined on top of the covers of his king-size bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He was showered and clean and unusually pensive.

  "Hi." Clint didn't look at her but kept his eyes on the television, on a late-night show he wasn't paying any attention to.

  "What did you do with the earrings?" she asked as she stepped into his room.

  He turned his head to glare at her. "Why? Planning on wearing them anytime soon?"

  "No."

  He turned his eyes to the television again. Perhaps he relaxed, a little. "Good."

  She crossed the small room and sat on the side of the bed. Confessions never came easily to her, and this closeness, this need to be with Clint … it scared her a little. No, it scared her a lot.

  "You were right," she said softly.

  Clint turned his head more slowly this time, snagged the remote and turned off the TV. "Say that again. I don't think I heard you correctly."

  She smiled. "I said you were right."

  Some of the hardness in his eyes softened, the length of his body seemed to relax a little more. "Right about what, exactly?"

  Mary lay down beside him, close but not too close. Comfortingly near, but not as near as she really wanted to be. "When I came here, I was ready and willing to put myself out there with a bull's-eye painted on my back. I wanted this guy so bad, I was willing to do anything to get him. Anything," she whispered. "A month ago, I would have snatched those earrings back from you and worn them all night, clown costume and all. I would have worn them day and night until this guy showed himself."

  "And now?"

  "I still want him," she said. "I want the man who killed Elaine and those other women, I want him so very badly." She scooted a little closer. "But I'm not willing to die to catch him. I don't want that bull's-eye on my back anymore, Clint."

  "What changed your mind?"

  "You," she whispered.

  She didn't mention Clint's argument that she might be carrying his child. It was too unlikely, too far-fetched. And yet, that possibility lurked in the back of her mind. Not what could be at this very moment, but what might be later. A month from now, a year from now. She saw her future again, in a way she hadn't since Rick had died.

  They hadn't slept together in days; her argument that he distracted her still stood. Unfortunately, not sleeping with Clint had done nothing to get him off her mind or out of her heart.

  He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I almost have enough to contact my boss and get the squad in here."

  "Almost?" Clint asked, incredulous. "Those damned earrings scare the crap out of me."

  "It's not enough," she said calmly. "We still don't know who he is, only that he's here. If I bring the squad in they might scare him off. We'll never get this chance again."

  Clint held her, but he didn't say a word for a while. She was content to lie still, to know that she was safe here. To believe, for the first time, that she had a life beyond today.

  "Do you know how much I hate this?" he finally whispered.

  "I believe so."

  "I don't think you do," he said sharply. "It's one thing to put yourself in danger, but it's another entirely when you have to watch someone you care about basically step in the path of a bullet. I'm glad you've decided to be more careful, but it strikes me that it might be too late for that. He knows you're here, he's noticed you. That alone is enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life."

  Mary lifted her head so she could look down on Clint's face. Was this love she felt inside her? Warm, heady, hopeful. Love. She'd loved Rick, and when he'd died she'd been so sure she would never feel this way again. There was only one shot at love in a lifetime, right? One man, one chance … and hers had died with Rick.

  But now she thought … maybe not. Maybe she had been given a second chance.

  She didn't know how they would make it work. She loved her job; Clint was a rodeo clown. She loved the city; he was a country boy through and through. But deep in her heart, she believed that they could make it work somehow.

  Mary leaned down and gave Clint a kiss, something short and sweet. It was so hard to be in his arms and not kiss him! She let her lips linger on his a moment too long, soft and moving ever so gently.

  "I thought we were keeping it cool until this was all over a
nd done," he said in a husky whisper.

  "We are," she said. "It was just one kiss."

  "Just one. Right." He placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her down to kiss her again. Deeper, this time, his tongue dancing with hers.

  The kiss was such a bad idea. What she wanted was such a bad idea. Until Elaine's killer was caught, she didn't have time to think about her future, and when she kissed Clint this way that's what happened.

  She saw forever. She saw nights under the stars and peach cobbler and racing horses and the kind of laughter that bubbled up from so deep inside it felt like pure happiness rising to the surface. One kiss—two—and she saw all that, and more.

  She settled back down beside him and closed her eyes, thinking that she could very easily sleep right here all night, when a sharp rap sounded through the room. Clint jumped up and she was right behind him as he walked silently to the door. He peeked out the security viewer and then sighed long and deep as he opened the door.

  "Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

  The two remaining Sinclair brothers walked into the room, Boone in his leather jacket and jeans, Dean properly dressed in a suit and tie even at this time of night. They each looked at her briefly, without surprise or brotherly glee, and then returned their attention to Clint.

  "You said 'now,'" Boone said as he closed the door behind him. "Not tomorrow morning, not at a decent hour. Now."

  Mary glared at Clint, ignoring the others. "What is this?"

  He didn't look ashamed or contrite, and he wasn't at all apologetic. "Reinforcements."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  Mary had been initially resistant. Okay, she conceded silently, she'd been much more than resistant. She'd been furious. Clint hadn't checked with her before calling Boone, he hadn't asked her if she minded that he was asking others to help.

  But now that they were working together, she was less annoyed. The four of them had had breakfast in this room, and she'd told Dean and Boone everything about the case. They already knew more than she'd anticipated; they didn't walk into this unprepared. She'd been ready to do battle if they came at her with the same rationalizations she'd gotten from Josh. They hadn't. They took her and her ideas very seriously.

  The two elder Sinclair brothers sat at the table where they'd had breakfast. The dishes had been cleared away; only coffee cups remained. Mary was unable to sit. She stood beside the table. Clint alternately paced and sat on the side of the bed.

  "Did you check in the areas where your suspects live, to see if there were other murders?" Dean asked. "It seems unlikely that he would only kill during the summer."

  Mary glanced over his shoulder. He had been going through the files on the most recent murder, apparently finding a few new details. "I didn't have time to check thoroughly in every hometown, though I did check on the areas surrounding Oliver Brisco's ranch."

  "Nothing?" Boone asked.

  Mary shook her head.

  "He might've traveled," Dean suggested. "This killer is very careful. Very controlled. He goes to the trouble to occasionally change his MO, in order to keep the authorities from tying these murders together, and he's consistently killed two women for each of the past four summers. No more than two, and always with a great deal of caution. I can't see him murdering in his own backyard."

  "He probably plans his crimes all through the year," Boone said softly as he sifted through one of Mary's files. "That's what keeps him from striking near home, that's what keeps him going. He dreams about his plans for the next summer and his past attacks, fantasizes, plays with those damn earrings."

  Dean looked up at Mary. "He doesn't make many mistakes."

  Clint tossed the earrings onto the table. "What about this? Isn't this a mistake?"

  Neither of Clint's brothers touched the jewelry. "I don't think so," Dean answered. "They're not distinctive, and I have a feeling they're moderately expensive but not outrageously so. You could probably get these same earrings at a dozen places in Huntsville alone, and we have no idea if he bought them here or not. I'll check around town to see if anyone remembers selling them, just in case."

  "Good idea," Mary said.

  Clint continued to pace. "He must've made a mistake somewhere along the line. In the beginning, maybe, with one of the first murders."

  "I'll look into it," Dean said, closing the folder before him.

  Clint stood beside the table where Dean and Boone continued to study the case files. "If you can find something in these files, fine," he said. "If you can hunt down the jeweler who sold those earrings, great. But that's not why you're here."

  They looked up at him. "Why are we here, then?" Dean asked.

  "I want you to watch Mary when I can't. There are too many blind spots in the arena, and when I'm working I can't always see her. Whoever this guy is, he knows we're involved, and I have a feeling that's when he'll make his move. While I'm chasing a bull, he's going to be stalking Mary. I want you two watching her."

  They both nodded.

  "I don't need…" Mary began.

  "Yes, you do," Clint insisted.

  She didn't argue with him. Not because she thought she needed a trio of bodyguards, but because if someone else wasn't watching her while Clint was in the arena, he was going to be distracted. That would never do. The last thing she wanted was for Clint to get hurt because he was watching her instead of an angry bull.

  * * *

  Clint felt better knowing Dean and Boone were in the building. They might not be able to catch the killer, but they could keep Mary safe. That was fine with him. Mary's job was finding the killer. His was keeping her alive and unhurt.

  Mary was working the crowd. Fifteen minutes until time for the show to begin. The usual rush he felt before a performance was muted. He didn't want his brothers watching Mary, he wanted to do it himself. Still, if he had to trust someone else with the job…

  "Sinclair," Oliver snapped.

  Brisco was in a bad mood, worse than usual. His eyes were on the crowd, and he cursed beneath his breath as he studied a section in the reserved seats. At the moment, he did look like a man who could commit murder.

  "What's wrong?" Clint asked.

  Oliver glared at him. "I need a bull rider for the second round. You up for it?"

  Clint shook his head. "No, thanks." He'd already given Oliver his arguments. It had been too long. He didn't need to ride anymore.

  "One time, Sinclair," Oliver snapped. "Give me a break. I need someone in the second round. You were great. You were the best. What the hell happened? You get gored once and just give it up forever?"

  "Makes sense to me," Clint said gently.

  Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets. He took a long, deep breath. "Ride for me tonight or you're fired," he said, his eyes on the crowd again.

  "What?" Surely he hadn't heard right.

  "Ride tonight or you're fired," Oliver said again, more slowly. "How much plainer can I make it for you, Sinclair? I need a rider, you're capable and if you're not willing to do as I tell you I don't need you at all."

  "Fine," Clint snapped. "I'll get Mary and we'll—"

  "No," Oliver interrupted. "You go. She stays."

  "I don't think so."

  "We'll just have to ask her what she wants to do. You're not exactly a team." Oliver rocked back on his heels. "I think she'd like to continue on as Mary Mary Quite Contrary. She seems to like it very well."

  Given the choice, Mary would stay. Clint knew that. She was being more careful these days, thank God, but she wasn't one to give up. There would be too many hours when he couldn't be close to her if Oliver fired him.

  "The second round," Clint said softly.

  Oliver grinned. "I knew you'd come through for me. Who knows, you might even decide to take riding up again full time. You were the best, Sinclair. The best should go out on top, not from a hospital bed."

  He hadn't ridden in four years. Clint knew too well that he
wasn't going to go out on top; he was going to eat dirt, one way or another.

  * * *

  Every now and then she caught a glimpse of one of the Sinclair brothers. She saw Clint a couple of times after the first round of bull riding was done. Boone and Dean she saw all night long. They weren't obvious, not to anyone but her. But they were there, and she had never been more confident of her backup.

  It was almost time for the second round of bull riding, so Clint was gone. He was down behind the chutes, waiting for the bull riders to be introduced. The lights went down, and Tony began to introduce the riders. Mary recognized a couple of the names; the cowboys had been in Birmingham the week before. Fools all, in her opinion.

  She half listened to Tony's introductions. Next he'd introduce the bullfighters, Clint and Sam, and the event would get under way.

  "A special treat tonight," Tony said. "Clint Sinclair, one of our bullfighters, is coming out of retirement for us tonight and will ride Red Thunder!"

  Mary was certain she'd heard wrong. She stepped to the mezzanine railing and looked down into the arena. Clint stepped up to join the riders who had already been introduced, lifting his hat and waving to acknowledge the hearty applause. He had gotten rid of his clown attire and greasepaint and wore a black shirt, black chaps and beat-up boots.

  "No," she whispered. "He can't do this to me." She turned and ran smack dab into Oliver Brisco.

  "You should watch from here," he said with a smile. "This is where you really get the best view."

  "Why is he doing this?" she asked.

  Brisco shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to impress you. After all, what woman can really get excited about a clown."

  "He wouldn't do that."

  "Maybe he's doing me a favor, since I came up a couple of cowboys short tonight."

  "You did this," she whispered.

  His answer was a shrug. "Clint works for me, and I needed him to ride tonight. He'll be fine, most likely."

  The lights came up, and Mary forced her way past Brisco. She didn't worry that he might try to stop her. If she couldn't get past him on her own, Boone or Dean would take care of him. She didn't see them, but she knew they were close by.