by D'Ann Lindun
“You understand the dangers then,” Mike said.
“I do,” Mallory said. “And I’m willing to chance it as long as we turn back if it looks scary.”
“Let’s go then.” He moved toward the door with a determined stride.
Chapter Seven
Mallory climbed into the SUV and waited for Mike to join her. She looked down the street and caught a glimpse of someone darting between two buildings.
It couldn’t be who she thought it was—Brent.
She knew it was him. Why was he in Goldfield? There wasn’t any reason she could think of for him to be here. He had said he was going to do maintenance on the rafts. Surely there weren’t any raft supply stores in an almost–ghost town. Mesa, a good sized city, was only a few miles from The Cholla, with several Wal-Marts and Targets within easy access. The city also had an army surplus outlet and a lot of outdoor supply stores. The purpose for him being in the nearly deserted town was bound to be a sneaky one.
Mike got in and Mallory opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. He already thought she’d imagined the loose horse and her room door being left open by someone other than her. She wasn’t going to give him more reason to think she was losing it. “How far is Tortilla Flat?”
“About twenty miles.” He started the engine.
“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that far,” she said.
He put his foot on the brake. “Do you want to go back?”
“Not if you don’t. I’d really like to see the places Skeeter loved so much.”
“I have all day.” Mike turned the Durango toward the misty mountains and drove down the main street of Goldfield. “I’m all yours. I’m at your command.”
Mallory blushed a little. Although completely innocent, the words conjured up an image of her giving him directions of a personal nature. She’d been out of the dating scene too long if she was getting warm by harmless comments from this man. “Thank you for doing this.”
“My pleasure.” His smile made her stomach do funny moves.
To change the direction of her errant thoughts, she again took in the view. She glimpsed a modern building in the rain. “What’s that?”
“The Lost Dutchman State Park headquarters.” He began to slow. “Before you ask, there’s no ranger there. Do you want to stop?”
“Not really. I’d rather look at the desert and the next town.” If she were merely a tourist, she’d love to take her time and explore. But since she was on a quest of sorts, she had to pick what was more important.
He pressed the accelerator and they zipped past.
“Where’s Needle Point?” She remembered a landmark from Skeeter’s map.
He shot her a glance. “Weaver’s Needle? Why?”
She shrugged. “I just remembered the name from the article I read in the college magazine.”
“It’s over there.” He pointed to his left. “You can’t see it from here. It’s famous for supposedly being the landmark Jacob Waltz used to orient himself to find his gold. Several treasure hunters have connected him to it.”
“I wonder if Skeeter made that connection, too.” Mallory crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ward off a shiver. She’d been in the barren land around Vegas many times, and through Colorado’s high desert a few times, but something about this strange, eerie land with all its secrets drew her in, yet made her nervous too.
“I’m sure he did,” Mike said. “Anyone who has heard the legend knows about the landmarks.”
“Do you?” Mallory turned her head and studied his profile. Strong forehead, nose, and jaw. Male beauty in all it’s glory. Smart, too. Her breath caught and she had to draw her thoughts back to his words.
“Sure. I’ve lived in Phoenix or Mesa all my life. The first time I heard about the Lost Dutchman I was a kid and a newscast said someone had found it. The whole thing turned out to be a hoax.”
“Have you ever been tempted to look for it?”
Mike could feel her piercing gaze on the side of his face. “I guess. Once or twice. But reality always prevailed. I don’t have time now to go traipsing around the desert, looking for a ghost’s stash of gold.”
“But if it were real . . .”
“Trust me, it’s not.” Mike spoke harsher than he meant to. Did she know he took her map? Nausea churned in his stomach and he hoped she couldn’t read him. He couldn’t feel worse if he had a big Guilty sign on his forehead. He’d never done anything wrong in his life. Well, nothing worse than cheat on a math test in high school anyway. Desperation had driven him to the edge.
As they passed Canyon Lake, he slowed so she could look at the view. Everyone else he’d ever brought here had oohed and aahed over the abundance of water in the desert, but she didn’t comment, so he drove on. A little disappointed, he didn’t say anything either. He wanted her to like it here, to see the desert’s raw beauty, and appreciate it. Though he couldn’t say why it mattered. She’d be gone in a few days.
Loneliness he hadn’t felt in over a year swept over him. He didn’t want Elisha back, but he missed the companionship of a woman. He’d dated a few times, but no one interested him enough to want to go out again. Until now.
A movement among the saguaros caught his eye and he looked hard until he spotted something. A wild horse. He pulled to the side of the road and stopped. “Look.”
Mallory leaned across the console and he caught a whiff of her clean, light scent. “What?”
“There’s a wild horse.” He pointed. “Actually there’s several. Look closely and you’ll see them moving.”
Pushing her glasses up on her nose, she peered through the rainy windshield. “Oh, I see one. There’s two. Oh, I can count them all now. Five mares, a foal and a stallion. They’re beautiful. Are they truly wild?”
“Yes, they’re part of a herd that roams the Tonto National Forest.” He watched a sorrel mare and her matching foal dart between the tall saguaros. A minute later, a pinto stallion followed. No matter how many times he saw the mustangs, he was awed by them.
“There’s a large herd in the foothills outside Vegas.” She watched them with a rapt look. “I love to get out and watch them when I can.”
“If we’re going to see Tortilla Flat we’d better go.” He hated breaking the mood.
“Yes, we should go.” She straightened.
The only sound in the Durango was the sound of the windshield wipers sloshing back and forth across the glass and the rumble of the tires as they sped down the dirt road. He slowed to cross a low spot in the two-lane highway. Although water ran in a fast stream it was low enough he could easily see the yellow lines and he flipped on the four-wheel drive and crossed with no trouble.
“Will it get higher?” Mallory pressed her nose to the glass and watched as they forded the stream.
“Possibly.” She seemed nervous and he strove to calm her. “But the Durango is high enough it shouldn’t be a problem.”
True to his word, he guided the SUV through the water with no problem.
A few minutes later he drove into Tortilla Flat and slowed to a crawl. Only six people lived here, in what had been a stop on a stage route. He parked in front of a building with a carved Indian chief in front. Together, they got out and walked inside.
At the bar, there were a row of saddles made into bar stools. Mike waited until Mallory seated herself, then he took the next saddle over. He’d been here before with other guests, but he wanted Mallory to like it. The scent of hamburgers and green chili teased his nose, and Mike realized how hungry he was. A radio played an old Waylon Jennings song and he hummed along with the tune about good-hearted women and the men who loved them.
A short, bald man with a well-groomed stark white mustache and beard came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Well, hello. I didn’t hear you come in. What can I get you?”
“Are you hungry?” Mike asked Mallory.
“Starving.”
“We’ll take two hamburgers with the works.”
Mike waited until the waiter-cook left. “Hamburgers are the only thing they serve out here.”
“Oh, I see,” she said.
In a few minutes the scent of grilling meat reached them and the man came back, carrying a plate of tortilla chips and salsa. “I almost forgot, what can I get you to drink?”
Mike glanced at Mallory. “Two cokes, please.”
“Done,” the man said. He handed them two old-fashioned coke bottles. “I’m Pete Bernard. Chief cook and bottle washer. Owner, too.”
Mike shook his hand. “Mike Malone. And this is Mallory James.”
Pete’s bright blue eyes sharpened. “James? Any relation to Skeeter?”
“He was my dad,” Mallory said. “He died a few days ago.”
Pete shook his head sadly. “I sure am sorry to hear that. Skeeter was quite the character. He lent an air of authenticity to this old place. That cute little burro, too. They were the pair. Tourists loved them. Always taking his picture . . . asking questions about the desert. Skeeter was a walking encyclopedia. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about the area.”
“You said he allowed people to take his picture? You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?” Mallory’s voice shook with excitement.
Pete rubbed his chin. “You know, I just might. Hold on.” He disappeared in the kitchen and the sound of sizzling meat reached their ears. He came back in a few minutes carrying a few pictures. “I found these in my desk. You’re welcome to them.”
Mike looked over Mallory’s shoulder as she studied the images. Someone had taken pictures of Skeeter outside the building in which they sat. He looked the same as the last time Mike had seen him alive—wearing a dusty fedora, checked shirt, and faded jeans, holding a lead rope attached to Nobody. He didn’t smile; his eyes were creased at the corners.
Mallory’s fingers shook as she traced his face.
“Do you recognize him?” Mike asked. “I bet he’s changed a bit.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Waiting for her to get her emotions under control, Mike asked Pete, “How long ago were these taken?”
“Oh, let’s see.” He tugged on his beard. “I’d say about six months.”
“You’re sure it’s okay if I keep these?” Mallory’s voice trembled.
“Oh, sure.” Pete smiled at her. “I don’t need them.” He backed into the kitchen and returned in a flash with their meals. Placing the food in front of them, he sat behind the bar. “So, did old Skeeter leave you a mint in gold?”
Mike jerked his head up from his food, waiting for her answer.
“No. Not unless you consider one small vial of gold dust a mint.” She toyed with her napkin. “I guess he died an indigent.”
Pete shook his head again. “That’s hard to believe. He didn’t make a habit of eating here, but when he did come in, he paid in cash. Never left a tip though. Tight old geezer.”
“Where do you think he got the money?” Mallory asked.
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t wager a guess. I always thought he found an old mine or filed a claim on a new one. As long as I’ve known him, he didn’t do much but drag that little burro around.”
“Did he say anything about where he might have a claim?” Mike picked up a chip and dipped into fragrant salsa. He bit down on the spicy combination and almost forgot his question.
“No way.” Pete chuckled. “Skeeter was a wily one. He wouldn’t have let a soul know where he had a claim, if he did.”
“Then why do you think he had a mine?” Mike pressed.
“Because no one can live on nothing.” Pete smiled. “And because he mailed something from the post office once a month.”
Mallory spoke. “Do you know what?”
He shook his head. “Not a clue.”
“But you think it was something valuable?” Mallory hadn’t touched her burger.
“Maybe. He didn’t say.” Pete rubbed his beard. “I only know he mailed a brown business sized envelope once a month. I figured it was something important.”
“Did he get mail?” Mallory leaned forward, her voice intent.
Pete shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
“Who is the postmaster?” She moved as if to stand.
“Well, me,” he said.
“Then why can’t you tell me if my father got mail?” Her body sagged back onto the saddle.
“’Cause that’s privileged information,” he said. “I’d be breaking the law if I told you that.”
“You didn’t mind telling us he mailed something out,” Mike reminded him.
“That’s different.” Pete picked up a rag and wiped the bar. “I don’t know where it went or to who. But I do know if something came in and who it was from. Not that I’m saying there was anything, mind you.”
Watching Mallory’s face out of the corner of his eye, Mike wanted to reach across the bar and take the little bald bastard by the neck and shake the information out of him. Couldn’t he see she was hurting? Any idiot could see she was dying for information about her father. “She’s his next of kin. Doesn’t that make her eligible to know Skeeter’s business?”
“Not until I see something in writing.” Pete paused with his cleaning and looked Mike in the eye. “The law’s the law. Even here in Tortilla Flat.”
“Will a death certificate do?” Mallory asked. “I don’t have it here with me, but I can bring it back.”
“That’ll do.” Pete began wiping the bar again. “You understand. Rules are rules.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
Mike’s appetite had fled and he didn’t think Mallory was hungry any more either. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She shoved her glasses up on her nose in the way he was beginning to recognize as a nervous habit. Endearing and sweet.
He looked at Pete. “Do you have any take-out boxes?”
“Sure do.” He reached behind the counter and handed them two Styrofoam containers.
Mike put their uneaten meals in them and handed Pete a bill. “Keep the change.”
He lifted it and said with a wave, “Don’t forget to bring me that paperwork.”
Mallory smiled weakly and Mike ushered her out the door. The rain had become a drizzle. “Would you like to walk through town?”
She nodded and began to stride away. He caught up and together they toured the tiny town. He couldn’t read her mood and he didn’t want to pry, so he walked silently at her side as she took in the village.
At the post office she stopped. “I cannot believe this was my father’s life. He was well-respected in his professional life, he was loved by my mother and me. What in heaven’s name could have enticed him to live like this? Like some kind of extra in an old western movie? I just don’t understand.”
He had no words or wisdom to offer. All he had was sympathy. He did the only thing he could. He took her in his arms and held her. She felt so small and so frail as she shook in his arms. He wanted to protect her, to make her hurt go away. But he didn’t have the power to do so. All he could offer was comfort. For a few minutes she stood in the circle of his arms. She pulled back from him and turned away. He caught a glimpse of tears on her cheeks, but she ducked her head and wiped them with her palms.
“We should go,” she said.
“There’s no hurry.” He was willing to let her take her time.
“I’ve kept you too long,” she insisted. “And I’ve seen everything I want to.”
He couldn’t argue that and hurried to keep up as she almost ran back to the Durango.
Inside the warm, leather-scented interior he started the ignition. “We’ll come back as soon as you get Skeeter’s death certificate.”
She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s the point? I found out what I came for. I guess I hoped deep down inside that Skeeter was more than a bum. But that’s not the case, is it? He was exactly what he appeared to be. A man who walked away from his wife and child to live in the desert with a burro. He was c
old, heartless. I don’t want to know any more.”
Mike sat in silence as grief and rage poured out of her.
“All these years I’ve held on to the stupidest dreams. Like he was an amnesiac and couldn’t find his way back home. And let’s not forget the CIA theory. I thought he might’ve been forced to live undercover and he couldn’t come back because he’d put us in danger.” She laughed bitterly. “I am such a fool.”
“You’re anything but a fool.” Mike’s chest tightened. He wished he had the magic cure to make her feel better. “You’re smart. And pretty. And wonderful.” The words came easily. He didn’t have to struggle to find them. “And your dad was a damn fool to miss out on all you are. I bet his wife was great, too.”
She sniffed. “My mom was pretty special.”
“She had to have been something great if she raised you.” Mike reached across the seat and took one of her cold hands in his. “Look, I don’t know why your dad took off, but I do know he couldn’t have been thinking clearly when he did. He was a jackass.
She shook her head. “You didn’t know the same man I did. He was brilliant and wonderful and—”
“A louse.” Mike cut her off. “A wonderful man doesn’t abandon his wife and child with no word for twenty years. That’s a rotten human.” Mallory didn’t correct him, but he had the feeling she wanted to again. “You’re right. I didn’t know Gary James, Professor. I knew Skeeter James, desert rat. I thought he was a confirmed bachelor with no ties anywhere. He wasn’t the person you believed him to be. Grieve for all he lost, not for what you never had.”
A tear fell down her cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb.
She turned her face away from him, trying to hide her tears. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head toward him. Her big doe eyes swam and his heart clenched. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
A sob escaped her. “I know.”
Right then and there Mike vowed he’d rather rip out his own liver with his teeth than ever see her hurt like this again.
Chapter Eight
Mallory pulled her chin out of Mike’s grasp. The combined look of pity and kindness in his eyes nearly undid her. She would’ve liked for him to wrap his arms around her again and let him comfort her, but she’d relied on herself most of her life. She wasn’t going to start depending on anyone else now. Especially a man. Not even this one.
