Rio shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know that.”
Jodie grumbled, “What you’re asking for is a miracle.”
He smiled. Much like one of his old cocksure smiles. “If anyone can do it, you can, Jodie. You’re a Parker. And that counts for somethin’ out here.”
Jodie frowned and shook her head, but she didn’t try to convince him otherwise. The effort would have been futile. And maybe he needed that kind of faith in her to hold on to at present. The magic of the Parker name. Just ask and all doors open to you.
“I’ll try to ride out in the next day or two to see how you’re settling in,” she promised.
He nodded and she turned away.
As she was about to let herself outside, he said quietly, “Hey Jodie...thanks.”
And he sounded sincere.
CHAPTER SIX
TATE’S ORIGINAL PLAN to drop by Jack’s place Saturday afternoon had to be postponed. Late in the morning, two teenagers, joyriding in a stolen car, had missed a turn and plowed straight into a parked eighteen-wheeler just outside the town limits. Both boys had been hurt, one seriously, and it had taken hours to get everything sorted out and the parents notified. Then a call came in from someone who thought he’d seen Rio Walsh a few days before. A deputy wasn’t available, so Tate went to interview the man himself.
“Sure looked like him,” Stan Dodson, a part-time gas jockey at one of the local service stations, said. “I’m pretty good at rememberin’ faces. That and license-plate numbers. Not a lot else to do when I’m on duty. Didn’t see him at the station, though. Wasn’t actually in Del Norte, either. Off in Fort Stockton. I had to go up there to pick up a special order. And while I was there, I stopped by to visit a cousin of mine who works at one of those chain grocery stores. That’s where I saw him.”
“And you’re sure it was him?” Tate pressed.
“Fairly sure. He has a mustache now, otherwise he’s pretty much the same. He used to come in here to gas up that old pickup truck of his. The one with the cow horns for a hood ornament. When I heard you was on the lookout for him, I thought I better give ya a call.”
Tate smiled. “You’ve been a big help, Stan. You, ah, didn’t happen to see which way he headed when he left, did you?”
Stan admitted sheepishly, “My girlfriend says I’m too curious sometimes for my own good, but I stepped out to watch him leave. He took off this direction down the highway.”
Tate clapped the man on the shoulder, thanked him again for his help, then went back to the office.
Several administrative matters had to be attended to, but once he’d dealt with them, he put a call through to Bill Preston in Clayborne County.
“Can’t say for sure,” he told the other sheriff, “but I think we’ve had someone spot Rio Walsh. Not in this county, but coming this way. Person knew him from before and recognized him.”
Tate could hear the squeak of the other sheriff’s chair as he sat forward. “Best news I’ve had all day!”
“We’ll step up our activity, see if we can catch him for you. From what I know of him, he’s not the kind of person to keep to himself. He may lay low for a while, but he’ll surface sooner or later.”
“That’s what I think, too. Man, Rufus Hammond is gonna be glad to hear this.”
“Rufus Hammond?” Tate echoed.
“Crystal Hammond’s daddy—the girl Rio Walsh beat up.”
A whisper of unease moved along Tate’s spine. “It might not be a good idea to say anything to him yet. Not until we know for sure...have your man in custody and all.”
“Girl’s not getting any better,” Sheriff Preston said gruffly. “In fact, she’s failing fast. Got all kinds of complications. Do Rufus good to hear some positive news for a change.”
Tate offered no further advice. It wasn’t up to him to tell another sheriff how to run his county.
After hanging up, Tate composed a bulletin to be passed along to his deputies and to the Del Norte police chief, alerting them to the sighting. He also sent a notice to the law-enforcement agencies in the surrounding counties. If Rio Walsh showed his face anywhere in the vicinity, he wanted him detained.
Tate’s thoughts swung to the Parkers. Their ranch would be a high-priority destination for the cowboy. Tate was in accord with the sheriff in Colorado that Rio might think he had friends there, at least among the hired hands. But unlike the Colorado sheriff, Tate had drawn no conclusions about the man’s guilt. The fact that he was fleeing, though, spoke volumes. Out of curiosity Tate had run a check on Rio Walsh’s prior record and been surprised there wasn’t more. A few traffic warrants, a drunk-and-disorderly, participation in a couple of bar fights—pretty clean for an itinerant cowboy. Still, there was that trouble with Jodie, which showed a history of involvement with susceptible young women.
Tate stood up, retrieved his hat from the antler prong, jammed it on his head and strode into the hall.
“Get this out right away,” he said, stopping by the dispatch office. “Top priority. I’m off to the Parkers.” He weathered his mother’s raised eyebrow. “Read that and you’ll see why,” he instructed brusquely before continuing to his patrol car.
JODIE SET THE STAGE for what would be for her, as an adult, a new endeavor. Shortly after lunch she announced to Mae that she planned to start riding again. Like every other Parker on the ranch, she’d learned to sit a horse almost before she learned to walk. Riding had been like breathing to her. Then her favorite horse had died at about the same time she’d begun to question her place in the world, and she’d stopped. If she were to saddle up now, without preparation, it would be sure to draw attention. Exactly what she didn’t want.
As it was, Mae looked at her suspiciously. “Why?” she demanded.
Jodie answered with clear-eyed innocence. “I thought you’d be happy about it. Aren’t you the one who’s been going on at me about connecting with the land? I thought I’d try, but if—”
“Are you up to something?” Mae countered.
“No. I just I used to love to ride, remember?”
“I remember.”
Jodie shrugged. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. It was only an idea.”
Mae continued to look at her, a woman who until recently had always been a full two steps ahead of everyone else. Now she was only one step ahead, and the shortcoming obviously irritated her. She could see no reason for Jodie’s determination other than the one she claimed, so at last she gave her approval. “No, you’re right. It’ll do you good to get out and about. Help you to think. Figure things out.”
Jodie felt a small easing of pressure. It was her plan to ride every day so that everyone would get used to it, and when she needed to contact Rio, her motives wouldn’t be suspect.
“Would you like to have company?” Mae asked. “I’m sure there’d be any number of volunteers. Shannon loves to ride now, too.”
Jodie shook her head. “I’d rather be on my own, Aunt Mae.”
Mae nodded, then sighed. “I wish I could do what you’re doing. Getting out on the land isn’t the same from a truck.”
Mae had ridden well into her seventies, until an old leg injury and advancing age prevented her. When she wanted to visit sites on the ranch, Rafe or Morgan, sometimes both, would drive her.
“Be sure to take a rifle with you,” Mae directed. “You never know what you might run into.”
“I will,” Jodie promised. Shooting accurately was something else Jodie had learned at a young age, but that, too, was another ranch activity she’d put aside as she’d grown older.
Word must have filtered out about her decision, because when she went to the corral later that afternoon to pick out a horse, one was already waiting.
Cecil, the shyest of the ranch cowboys, said quietly, “Rafe told me to pick a good ’un for ya. This here’s Tony.”
He blushed as he spoke and shrugged with a loose-limbed awkwardness that belied his thirty-some years. Jodie complimented him on his choice of horse,
her practiced gaze going over the animal.
“Would ya like me to saddle ’im?” Cecil asked.
Jodie saw the saddle straddling a nearby rail. “No, I can take it from here.”
The cowboy bobbed his head and self-consciously added, “Me and the boys are glad to have you back from those foreign places, Miss Jodie. Texas is where you belong, not out there.”
He blushed even more when she smiled at him, then had to hurry away to recover. Jodie wondered if that was the most Cecil had ever said to a woman.
She took time to make friends with the horse, feeding him the carrot she’d brought and running her hands over his strong neck and back. It had been so long. Too long! What had been her purpose in denying herself this delight?
She’d just finished saddling up and was leading Tony out of the corral when a familiar white police patrol cruiser, one with a bright blue stripe down its side and the Briggs County insignia on the front door, pulled into the parking area abutting the pens.
Jodie’s whole body went on alert.
Her first thought was of Rio—or actually her second. Because when Tate stepped out of the car, it wasn’t fear or worry that caused a fine tremor to attack her limbs. There was something about him that made her overreact—the way he looked, the way he moved. Then apprehension about Rio swamped everything else.
She made herself greet him warmly. “Tate! Hello!” Was that a little too warmly? She’d never spoken to him so enthusiastically before.
He looked a bit taken back, but recovered quickly. “Jodie,” he said, closing the distance between them. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
Jodie now had some insight into how Cecil probably felt all the time—totat and complete insecurity about what to say and do next. Every part of her felt awkward. The way she stood, how she held her head. Her fingers tightened on the reins as the big horse stamped impatiently at her side. “I...I was just about to go for a ride. Do you ride?” she asked, then laughed uncomfortably. “I suppose that’s a silly question after having known you for so many years, but I never thought to ask before. I—”
She might have gone on forever if he hadn’t cut in. “I ride some,” he said, “but not like you. I never had much access to a horse.”
“You should come out when you have some free time. I‘ll—we’ll—we can go for a ride.”
Tate looked at her oddly again, as if puzzled by her uncharacteristic chirpiness. She cleared her throat and tried for normalcy. “Is it Rafe you want to see? He’s around somewhere. Cecil talked to him just a little while ago. He probably knows where he is.”
Tate glanced at the slim cowboy, who had bent to check the shoes on a horse. “I’ll ask him in a minute. I wouldn’t mind havin’ a word with you, though, if you’re not in too much of a hurry.”
Her stomach tightened. “Is here all right?” she asked. “Or...or we could go over there.” She motioned to an old wooden bench that some of the cowboys had long ago propped against the workshop wall. Wild grasses struggled for survival along its base, but they’d been beaten down so many times by booted feet that they’d just about given up.
“Over there’s fine,” Tate said, and after waiting for her to tie the reins to a post, fell into step behind her as she nervously led the way.
Did he know? Had he somehow found out that she was helping Rio?
Jodie perched uneasily on the rough bench. She wasn’t surprised when Tate continued to stand. The better to interrogate her? He’d been a big-city policeman in Dallas. Was that the way they taught their officers to intimidate a suspect?
“I came to tell you Rio Walsh was spotted in Fort Stockton,” he said. “And he’s headed this way. In fact, he’s probably somewhere around here right now.” Tate paused. “You knew him pretty well.” Quite an understatement, Jodie thought. “What do you think he’ll do?”
He didn’t know! He didn’t know that she—“Ah...” She had to answer before too much time passed. “The Rio I knew would keep going. He’d cross the border at some point and hide out in Mexico. That is, if he actually did what you’re accusing him of doing.”
“I never said he did a thing. All he’s wanted for is questioning.”
“Someone obviously thinks he did it.”
Tate had left his hat in the car. To signal he was on a friendly call? He sounded very official, though, when he replied, “No charges have been filed yet.”
Since the moment had presented itself, Jodie decided to make use of it. “You know I don’t believe he hurt this girl. Who says he did, anyway? Her family? And who are they? What are they like?” She fired off the questions as nonchalantly as she could. One slip and Tate would pick up on it. But she had to be sure that at least some of the things Rio had told her were true. And Tate was the perfect person to ask. “I mean,” she continued, “are they like us? Like the Parkers?”
He smiled slightly. “Would you be disappointed if they weren’t?”
“Not in the least,” she denied, her chin lifting.
“They’re people of influence, I’d say,” Tate answered seriously, frowning. “Sheriff up there seems pretty tight with ’em. I don’t know much more than that.”
“What about the girl? Is she...”
“It looks worse for her now than it did before.”
There was a small silence as Jodie lowered her eyes. To her surprise she felt Tate reach out to lightly smooth the hair at the crown of her head. Her breath caught until his hand moved away.
“You don’t have anything to feel badly about, Jodie,” he said quietly. “You didn’t know the kind of person he was. He fooled you, like he’s probably fooled a lot of people over time.”
Jodie was afraid to look up, afraid of what he might read in her eyes. “That’s what you don’t understand. I’m sorry for the girl, but I still don’t think Rio hurt her.”
“If she dies, he’ll have to answer for it,” Tate said firmly.
Jodie’s head lifted. “What if he could prove he didn’t do it?” The instant the words popped out she wished them back. She attempted a hasty repair. “It’s called an alibi, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it only stand to reason that he might have been somewhere else when the assault occurred? Just because he was seeing her doesn’t mean—”
“He’s not doing himself any favors by disappearing. If he has an alibi he should tell Sheriff Preston. Running away is the act of a guilty man.”
Jodie did all she could to keep her gaze steady. But as she continued to look at him, she became lost in the intricacies of the tiny flecks of amber scattered through the dark caramel of his eyes. And the way those eyes drew attention in an already handsome face. A face that reflected strength of character and strength of will. Firm jaw, straight nose, serious mouth. She wondered what it would take to tease that mouth out of its seriousness and into passionate life.
A horse whinnied, making her start. It was Tony, calling her to their ride. He’d grown impatient waiting.
She jumped up and in her haste collided with Tate. He reached out to steady her. His hands were on her arms, his chest against her chest, his thigh against her thigh.
Their closeness lasted only seconds, but Jodie’s mind carried an imprint of everything about him. His compelling warmth, the hardness of his body—all coiled muscle and sturdy bone—the light fresh scent of his aftershave. Coming so soon after her earlier thoughts, she couldn’t prevent glancing at his mouth. Or speculating that all she needed to do was rise up on tiptoe and...
He smiled—warm, yet controlled—and Jodie pushed away from him.
“I...I have to go,” she managed inarticulately. “Tony...”
His smile disappeared. “Of course. I didn’t mean to delay you. Tell Tony I was the one who made you late.”
Tell Tony? Jodie looked at Tate in confusion, then realizing his mistake, motioned to the waiting gelding. “That’s Tony,” she said with quiet amusement.
Tate followed her gaze, stiffened slightly, then laughed. “Still, offer my apology,” he sa
id. And with a nod he went to check on Rafe’s whereabouts with Cecil.
TATE’S HOUSE was only a few blocks from the station, making it easy to get back and forth. Convenience had been one of its selling points, but since becoming sheriff a year and a half ago, he might just as well have commandeered a cell in the new jail for his use. He seemed to spend more time at the station or out on calls than he ever spent at home. Something was always happening. Something always needed his personal attention.
He let himself into the small two-bedroom house. He hadn’t changed the place much since moving in seven years ago. The same curtains that had come with the house still decorated the windows; he’d hung a few pictures, but had stopped with the intention of finding some he liked. more. He’d added a comfortable chair, a TV, a kitchen table. One bedroom was properly furnished, the other set up as an informal office. Not exactly warm and welcoming, but familiar.
He left his hat and service belt on a table by the door and shucked everything else on his way to the shower. One of the joys of life, he now deemed these precious moments of solitude, when hot water and soap could wash away the frustrations of his office, the inconsis-tencies of man, and the sometimes downright meanness shown by one human to another. Keeping the peace was his life’s work. But sometimes, for a few minutes, it was nice to get away from such weighty responsibility. No phones, no radio calls, only the hot soap-scented water.
He stood with his back to the shower head and let the stinging spray ease the tightness in his neck and shoulders, keeping his mind purposefully blank. Steam filled the room, and when after ten minutes he shut off the water, it was like waking up in a warm all-enveloping cloud.
Slowly the mist cleared and along with mental clarity came a symbol of his day-to-day life—a ringing telephone. It was the station. He was needed.
With methodical care Tate donned a fresh uniform. Had Jack found the routine as wearing as he did? On patrol in Dallas, then later as a deputy here, his free time had pretty much been his own to spend as he wanted. There were call-ins, but not every hour, every day, seven days a week. Jack seemed to have thrived under these conditions. For Tate it was beginning to chafe.
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