Desert Heat

by D'Ann Lindun

  For anyone to suggest he would harm the desert he loved so much was ludicrous. Every day hundreds of acres of desert were churned up for more houses. Why didn’t someone stop that?

  His head pounded and he made an effort to breathe more slowly. He reached the road Mallory had followed, and he tracked her. He knew it well. At the top there was a nice overlook and if you knew where to look, petroglyphs scratched into a boulder. He often brought guests up here to admire the centuries old art. But he hadn’t been this way since the ranch closed.

  Off to his left, he heard the echo of hoofbeats coming from the sandy canyon below. Under him, Geronimo neighed, and the other horse answered. How had Mallory gotten down there? He turned the Appaloosa that direction. There was no trail, but it was easy enough to angle down the hill. Taking care to skirt the all-too-ready-to-attack cholla, he moved his horse at a quick pace.

  He came out in a flat, six-foot wash. He waited a minute to see which way his spotted gelding would look. The horse would tell him which way Zorro was. Sure enough, his ears perked forward and he lifted his head, looking up the canyon.

  A bend in the ravine prohibited him from seeing very far, but he knew Geronimo wouldn’t mislead him. Tapping the horse with his heels, he trotted toward the other horse. As he rounded the bend, Zorro nearly ran them down. The black-and-white pinto, nearly white with foaming sweat, had no rider and no saddle. His eyes were wide and his nostrils were flared and rose red, indicating he’d run a far distance. What had happened? Why were his rider and saddle missing?

  Mike rose in his stirrups and shouted. “Mallory?”

  Zorro’s labored breathing bounced off the sandy walls, but nothing else.

  “Come on, boy. We’ve got to find her.” Dragging Zorro behind him, he loped up the wash.

  ~*~

  Mallory lay still for a few seconds before she moved her arms, legs, neck, and head. Nothing was broken, but the fingers on her left hand hurt quite a bit. She’d broken her fall with her hands and the left one had taken the brunt of her weight. At least it hadn’t been her head. She couldn’t draw enough air; the wind had been knocked out of her. Lying still, she concentrated on breathing until her lungs filled and emptied normally.

  She spit out sand and rolled to her back. What had upset Zorro? He’d been galloping away from the spooky Jeep, and out of the blue, he’d begun to buck. A fair rider, she’d stuck with him on the first couple of jumps, but the third had sent her flying like a frisbee. He’d seemed to get madder and leaped harder as he went, but maybe that had been her imagination. Either way, the result was the same. She’d landed face first in the sand.

  Coming to her feet, legs wobbling, she didn’t bother to look for Zorro. He’d dumped her faster than a blind date and run for home like Seabiscuit on the home stretch. She did want to see if she could find what scared him though, and she began to retrace her steps. Just a few feet from where she’d landed, she found the saddle and blanket. That was odd. She came off because she wasn’t used to riding in the rodeo, but there was no reason for the saddle to come loose. She’d tightened it herself, and double checked it before she got on.

  She bent and picked up the saddle blanket. Thick wool with a Navajo pattern across it, the blanket’s texture was a little rough. But as her fingers curled around the edge, she noticed something else. She knew the sensation oh-too-well. Flipping the blanket over, she found it—a piece of cactus nearly buried in the wool. Located right under the pommel, it wouldn’t touch a horse until it worked all the way through and poked him in the withers. Mallory stared at the offensive plant. How had it gotten there? She’d taken great pains to avoid the plants when she’d cut off the road. Besides, the location of the cactus made it obvious she hadn’t picked it up herself. Placed right in front of the saddle horn, at the end of Zorro’s mane, there was no way it could have gotten there without her seeing it, and getting it in her as well.

  She supposed it might have been picked up by another horse on another ride.

  Just as quickly as she thought of that, she discarded it. Not only had the blanket been lying face up on top of the pile, she’d picked the blanket up herself and her hand had rested exactly where the cactus lay. With one hand at each end of the pad, she’d lifted it and tossed it over Zorro’s back.

  The cactus hadn’t been there.

  Someone had done it deliberately to make him buck.

  But when? Mallory held the thick wool pad in numb hands and retraced her steps from when she saddled the horse. She’d run into the lodge to get a coke and write a note. If someone was quick, they could’ve taken that opportunity to sabotage her.

  This was too much. She could’ve been hurt badly or even killed. Sand might look soft, but it was a whole lot harder to land in than she ever imagined. Her fingers ached and she was pretty sure she’d jammed at least two of them. If she would’ve gotten hung up in the saddle, she could’ve been dragged to death. Her legs went shaky and she plopped to her behind right in the middle of the wash, still holding the evidence.

  She was still sitting there a few minutes later when Mike rode into sight, leading Zorro. He reined in and jumped off, dropping both horses’ reins. They dropped their heads to look for a snack in the dirt. He ran toward her and skidded to a stop, dropping to his knees at her side.

  “Are you all right?”

  Laughter bubbled up out of her. She didn’t find the situation particularly funny, but if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry. For a long time. He tipped his head and studied her. That made her laugh harder. She laughed until her sides ached and she couldn’t breathe. Mike looked at her like she’d lost her marbles, and maybe she had.

  Back home in Las Vegas she had a nice home, a good job, even a cat. Here she had one weird occurrence after another. Somebody didn’t want her around. She could take a hint. The minute Skeeter’s body was released, she’d head home and forget any of this ever happened. Her hysteria lessened, turned to giggles, then hiccups.

  Mike waited patiently. “Are you hurt?”

  She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. That hurt and she blinked back sudden tears. “I think they’re jammed.”

  He took her hand in his larger one and examined her fingers with careful scrutiny. His concern touched her. He probably thought she was injuring herself just to get him to hold her hand. He let go. “I think you’re right. Not broken anyway. I’ll take you to the clinic when we get back.”

  She nodded. She wasn’t going anywhere but to a motel.

  “What happened?” He picked up the blanket. “What’s this?”

  She pointed to the nearly hidden cactus. “There.”

  He ran his palm over it. “How did that get there?”

  “You tell me.” She pointed up the wash with the hand that didn’t ache. “I came that way and I know I didn’t run into any Cholla or any other prickly plant.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Somebody planted that there.”

  He didn’t deny it or try to explain it away.

  Surprised, she couldn’t find more words. Did he know she spoke the truth? Was he responsible or know who did it?

  He stood. “Where’s the saddle?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I only got this far.”

  “I’ll look for it.” He turned away and she climbed to her feet.

  “Not without me.” She trudged through the sand after him.

  A few feet from where she’d landed, the saddle lay upside down in the dirt. Like two wings pointing in opposite directions, the white cinch lay split down the middle. Mike knelt and picked it up.

  “This must’ve broke when he bucked.”

  Mallory, bending on the other side, had a different take. “It didn’t break. Somebody cut it.” She held up her side. “Look. Too straight for a break. If this was weak or ragged, there would be some roughened area where it had worn out. This is perfectly straight. And new. Someone did this.” She looked up and pinned her coldest stare on him. “I want to know who. And why.”

  He
dropped his side and for a minute, she thought he was going to deny it. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.”

  “You agree then?” Her voice went icy. She’d had all she was going to take from this show of horrors.

  “Yes. I’d say someone cut this.”

  “Why?” She advanced and pointed at him. “No more lies, Mike. Don’t try to make me believe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Since I got here, there’s been one thing after another you have tried to make me believe is my mind playing tricks on me. But I’m not crazy. I know what I know.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “I’m not trying to make you think you’re losing it.”

  “Aren’t you? You tried to make me think I didn’t hear a horse being ridden off into the desert when I know I did.” She held up her injured hands and held them toward him. “You tried to make me think you came from the lodge when you very clearly came from the river. Then, when I saw Brent in Goldfield, you told me I didn’t. Why?”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “I honestly didn’t think Brent followed us. And, yes, I was in the desert the night you fell in cholla. I went to make sure there wasn’t any trouble and I heard you scream. I thought you’d think it odd, being out at that time of night.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “Did you also put cactus under my saddle blanket and cut the cinch? That’s more than making me think I didn’t hear or see something, that’s criminal. I could’ve been killed.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “No. I swear. I don’t know anything about that.”

  She wanted to believe him. He looked so miserable she almost softened. “But you do know who rode the horse into the desert the night before last, don’t you?”

  He met her eyes, and his were full of guilt. “No.”

  He stood in front of her and lied to her face.

  Mallory’s stomach churned and she forced down nausea. Why wouldn’t he tell her the truth? He seemed so decent, but he wasn’t who he appeared to be. If he was willing to lie about that he was probably lying about sabotaging her saddle. She didn’t know what to think. He had kissed her last night. He had wanted to sleep with her. If only he’d come clean. She stumbled back a step and he reached to catch her. She raised her hand, palm out. “Don’t.”

  He frowned and picked up the saddle.

  As he turned away, she called after him. “There’s something else.”

  He looked her direction. “What?”

  “There’s an abandoned Jeep just up there. That’s what I was running from.” Standing in the middle of a wide, sandy arroyo, she felt foolish. But her intuition had told her something was wrong and she believed what it told her.

  “Probably just a sightseer who took a walk,” he said. His slight smirk suggested he thought she had overreacted. She knew she hadn’t.

  “I don’t think so.” Her tone told him she meant it. “I think something’s wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  She didn’t want to say it. “I’m not sure, but there’s something wrong. I know it.”

  “What are you saying? Spit it out?” His whole attention was focused on her.

  She swallowed. “I think someone’s dead.”

  “What?” His eyes opened wide. “Why?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I just sensed it.” She waved toward the horses. “He did, too. At least something made him very nervous up there.”

  “Zorro probably just wanted to get back to the other horses. Besides, you’re in no shape to ride anymore.” Clearly, Mike didn’t want to go.

  “Would you just take a look? Please?” She walked toward the horses. “Never mind. I’ll call the sheriff myself when I get back to the lodge. Maybe he’ll listen to me.”

  “No,” Mike said quickly. “I’ll go. Can you handle Geronimo? I’ll ride Zorro bareback.”

  Although she wasn’t thrilled to jump back on a horse, Mallory knew she wouldn’t rest until she set her mind at ease. Mike held the Appaloosa’s reins until she mounted, then he adjusted her stirrups. Seeing she was set, he swung up on the pinto’s broad back.

  ~*~

  Mike dismounted and handed his reins to Mallory.

  As much as he didn’t want to believe his gut, it told him she was right. This didn’t look right. He looked in the Jeep and saw a jacket, boots and a bottle of water that had been left open. No one familiar with the desert left water sitting around to evaporate—not even in February. Maybe an out-of-state tourist had wandered off and got lost.

  He didn’t buy it.

  The highway was less than half a mile away, and the ranch a bit further in the opposite direction. If the guy passed the ranch the Salt River would’ve fenced him in. If he went toward the highway, he’d end up in Mesa. The other way was a little different, but anyone with any brains would see they were headed toward the mountains.

  Walking around to the back of the Jeep, Mike saw an Arizona license plate. Whoever owned the vehicle was from the state, if not the area. He reached in and opened the glove box. A plastic folder and a screwdriver were the only items. He picked up the folder and looked through it. Along with a current insurance card, there was registration for the Jeep registered to Wendell A. Wallace. Nobody Mike knew. He replaced the items and looked at Mallory. She’d stayed mounted. Her big doe eyes were wide, her lips tight. She held the saddle horn with her good hand, and even from a few feet away he could see her white knuckles.

  “Someone you know?” Her voice trembled. She was really shook up.

  “No.” He shut the glove box and moved away.

  She pointed. “Look.”

  He glanced where she pointed. An old shovel lay in the sand, its point still half stuck in the ground. Mike walked closer and his skin prickled. He was picking up some bad vibes. Nonsense. The last couple of days had been rough and he was tired. He bent to pick up the shovel and that’s when he saw the shoe.

  Buried in the sand, a few feet from the shovel, only part of the side stuck out of the dirt. He swallowed hard and straightened. He moved another step. A foot up from the shoe, he glimpsed denim. It looked like a pair of jeans, but he couldn’t be sure. As his gaze swept across the area, he spotted skin. Fingers. Dirty, broken nails.

  He jerked.

  It hit him.

  The hand was attached to a body. A dead body.

  “Mallory,” he said in a tight voice, “you were right. There’s someone here.”

  He heard her scramble to dismount, tie the horses and run to his side. He didn’t take his eyes off the hand. It was if he stared at it long enough, he could make his brain believe it. Three days, two dead bodies. She grabbed his sleeve.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “We better get somebody out here.”

  “Who? The sheriff?”

  “Yeah.”

  Like him, she couldn’t quit staring. “I knew something was wrong. I felt it.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He reached in his pocket and dialed 911. After explaining, and giving directions, he hung up. “They’ll be here soon.”

  “Who do you think he is?” She backed away. “And what do you think happened to him?”

  Mike looked at her. Her eyes were wide and wary in a pasty white face. She looked terrified. Of him? Did she think he had something to do with this? He wasn’t a killer. Couldn’t she see that? After the last couple of days who could guess what she thought of him. She thought he tricked her into going into the desert, among other things. He had to admit he hadn’t made the best impression. But if she suspected him of killing someone, he had serious problems.

  “I have no idea.”

  Flashing lights lit up the early evening sky.

  In a minute, two four-wheel-drive Blazers, followed by an ambulance, all with the Maricopa County insignia on the doors, bounced up the wash.

  Mike straightened. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mike watched a female deputy cordon off
the sight, then snap photos around the body and the Jeep. Two big men leaned against the ambulance and waited to be summoned to help with the body. Mallory stood near Mike. He wanted to put his arm around her, but he knew the action wouldn’t be welcomed.

  Sheriff Bodine placed his fists on his hips and spit in the sand. “Who found him?”

  “I did.” Mike looked him in the eye. “I went to take a glance at that shovel over there. That’s when I spotted the shoe. I saw the jeans, then the hand.”

  “What were you doing out here?” The sheriff directed his attention toward Mallory. He dug a pen and small notebook out of his shirt pocket.

  She stepped forward. “I was riding on the road up there,” she pointed, “and I noticed something red in the bushes. I couldn’t tell what it was, so I came down here. Something spooked me and I went for help.”

  “What do you mean ‘something spooked you’? Did you see someone?” The sheriff made a note, then stared at her through almost-black mirrored sunglasses.

  “No. There wasn’t anyone around. Not that I saw anyway. I don’t know what bothered me. Just a feeling. The horse was creeped out, too.” She rubbed her arms with her hands.

  “Where were you?” Sheriff Bodine asked Mike.

  “I live at The Jumping Cholla, just over the hill. I was there when Miss James initially found this guy. She went riding alone, and I grew concerned when she was gone for quite a while. I came to look for her. She told me about what she’d seen and wanted to take another look. That’s when we found him.”

  “You said ‘him’? You know something I should know?” Sheriff Bodine made a note.

  “I looked in the glove box for I.D.,” Mike said. “There’s a registration and insurance cards in there with the name Wendell Wallace on them. I assume they belong to this guy.”

  “Take a look.” Bodine told his deputy and tipped his head toward the Jeep.

  She leapt to obey. In a second she came back carrying the plastic folder and handed them to Bodine with white gloved hands. “Do you want me to uncover the corpse now, sir?”