She tossed her head in a sassy way that irritated him no end. Whatever he said would not matter one damn bit. She was a reporter on a mission; the story was the thing—the only thing. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m out hunting for smugglers. I got a feeling they’re up here somewhere. Full moon, deserted roads, close to expressways. Works for me.”
The woman not only turned him on but turned every hair in his head gray. “You could be walking into a lot more trouble than you can imagine. Go back to town and read a book or something.”
She gave him a sweet smile and batted her big eyes. “Drop dead, Romero. You’re not telling me what to do. You might be more comfortable in your kitchen with your pots and pans, but that’s not where I want to be. I’ve got a big story to write.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Why are you up here, anyhow? This isn’t the way back to town. Where’s your pickup?”
Well, this was damn embarrassing. He nodded toward the side of the road, where her headlights were aimed. “Pickup’s over there. I sort of…slid. Took the wrong turn from the chalet and wound up here.”
“Wrong turn? The road goes up the mountain and down. What’s to get wrong?”
Everything. He couldn’t think straight with Dixie on his mind and this proved it beyond a doubt.
“You’re lucky you didn’t do worse than slide. There are some nasty cliffs. I should give you pointers on driving in the mountains.”
“Gee, thanks, but driving’s a little tricky when there’s a buffalo on the road.”
Her eyes went as big as the stars overhead and she sat straight up. “Buffalo?”
“I guess that’s what it was. Can’t be sure. My knowledge on the subject is limited to old nickels and the nature channel.”
“Ohmygosh!” She flung open the car door, making him jump aside. She glanced around as though gold was hidden behind every tree. “Where’d you see him? This way, that way? I wonder if it’s Andy.”
“I swerved—he ran. We didn’t exchange names.” Nick hitched his thumb over the side of the drop-off. “Bet I’m not insured for buffalo encounters. And why is this buffalo so important that he has a name?”
Dixie leaned against the car hood. “Andy is Maggie’s buffalo, missing for two months now. He’s her stud-muffin for starting her beefalo herd, some new kind of cattle thing that’s suited for smaller ranches. Anyway, Andy got buffalo-rustled. He escaped and has been running footloose ever since—seems to be enjoying himself to no end.”
She went to the edge of the road and peered over. Nick joined her there, and the two of them looked down the hill to the pickup. The only sound was the breeze in the trees; the only light came from the Camaro. Why couldn’t he be out here with Dixie just taking a walk, his arm around her, counting stars, pointing out constellations, talking about the town and the people?
He bent forward to get a better idea how he’d have to maneuver the car to get it out, when Dixie pulled something from his back pocket. “What’s this?”
Oh, hell! He’d been saying that a lot since Dixie had barged into his life. “It’s a bag I found.”
“I saw a corner sticking out. No mistaking a robin’s egg blue bag like this.” She held it up to his flashlight. “Where’d you get a Tiffany bag?”
“Up on the road. I was going to give it to you. Guess I forgot.” Okay, how did she do it? Find clues like this, even when they were stuffed in his pocket.
“Are you kidding? Not every day one of these winds up on a mountain road.” She smiled, her teeth white against the darkness. “You know what this means—the smugglers were here. Much easier to sell Tiffany knockoffs if you can pack them in the proper knockoff bag.”
She studied it. “And from its condition, the smugglers were here recently…very recently. No watermarks or dirt splashed from the rain. It’s not even dusty. Did you see anything besides Andy? Trucks coming and going?”
“Only Andy and me and the trip down the mountain.” She must have missed passing those truckers by a few minutes. Thank God for that! What if she’d followed them? The situation was getting too dangerous.
“This is some find,” she said with way too much enthusiasm in her voice. She walked back to the Camaro and called over her shoulder, “I’ll move my car over and light up the area so you can see how to back your truck out.”
He wanted that bag, dammit. And he wanted to kiss her. Hard to tell which he wanted more. He maneuvered his way down the hill, tripping over rocks, trying not to slip on leaves and grass. Why did Dixie have to be so closely connected to this assignment? Why did she have to be a reporter? Why couldn’t she be content as a waitress at the Sage? Life would be so much easier. Hell, life was never easy.
He climbed into the truck cab and turned the ignition. At least he wasn’t spending the night in the woods. And Dixie was talking to him…sort of. The engine hummed. He shifted into Reverse and hit the gas. The tires spun, grabbed the carpet, and the truck ground its way back onto the road. He got out and surveyed the damage.
“I think you need a new bumper and grill,” Dixie said.
What he needed was to have his head examined for being attracted to the biggest busybody in town. He flipped up the collar of her jacket against the breeze, surprising her just as he’d intended, using the oldest trick in the book to get what he wanted. Create a diversion one place; take what you need from another. “Thanks for helping me tonight.”
“Don’t read too much into it. I’m still angry with you. Besides, I owe you for finding the bag. Consider my help payback.”
Except she didn’t need to pay him back at all, since he’d just lifted the bag from her pocket. He didn’t want her flashing it around, making the smugglers even more aware than they already were that she was on their trail. They had connections in the area; he felt sure of that. How else would they have known to look for Drew in Whistlers Bend and not some ranch or farm or even in Rocky Fork?
“Follow me down the mountain,” Dixie said. “It’s easier that way.”
A gust of wind played with her red curls and he itched to do the same. “Right.”
He got into the truck and waited till she turned around. With luck, Dixie would think she’d dropped the bag or misplaced it. With no luck, she’d suspect him of taking it. And this was the second time he’d swiped evidence from her. The bag, the card, Wes, the designer paraphernalia—how long before she put them all together? In a small town, information about what she’d found would leak out in no time. He needed more lies, more diversions to lead Dixie in another direction.
One of these days he’d make it up to her. He’d level with her and tell her why he’d done what he had. Then he’d apologize for feeding her the “let’s be friends” line, because that was the biggest lie of all. He didn’t just want to be friends with Dixie. He wanted a lot more.
DIXIE YAWNED as the breakfast crowd at the Sage waned. She refilled coffee cups with one hand and served the Hungry Heifer special to Gracie’s ex, refraining from dumping the contents into his lap. Not that Glen didn’t deserve it. He never paid for his breakfast when he stopped in at the Sage because he knew Dixie wouldn’t turn in the father of her adorable niece and nephew. That rat.
Dixie laughed and joked with two cowboys and sashayed as usual, but her head and her heart were somewhere else…like with Nick “Jerk-extraordinaire” Romero! Could she and Gracie pick men or what! They needed to write a book: Twelve Easy Steps to the Relationships from Hell.
How could she have slept with him? How could she have jumped so willingly into his bed…or, more accurately, onto Danny’s leather couch? Lois Lane wouldn’t have jumped. Then again, she’d fallen for a guy who wore his underwear on the outside and changed in phone booths.
“Hey,” Maggie said as she parked herself at their table. “How’d the great rescue mission go? I drove all the way in from the ranch to find out.”
“You drove in to town to see Jack and we both know it.”
“There is that. He has a meeting. So, now that I’
m here, what happened? Did the conversion work?”
The few remaining customers were okay for a moment, so Dixie could talk. She sat down across from to Maggie. “The good news is your buffalo’s in the mountains, not far from your ranch. The other good news is Nick Romero’s not gay.”
Maggie grinned. “Well, that’s great, except you don’t look like you agree.”
“Nick not being gay was good news for about twenty minutes, then he said again that he thought being friends was a good idea.”
Maggie glared. “But if he’s not gay, why does he have the designer stuff?”
“Presents for his grandmother, who lives in Italy, which makes no sense, since that’s a fashion and designer Mecca.” Dixie sighed. “Last night Nick’s car went off the road and I helped him get it out of a ditch. There were big tire tracks on the pull-off that weren’t run over by his pickup—meaning he was there first. And—here’s where it gets really interesting—he had a knockoff Tiffany bag in his pocket, which I took from him and he somehow stole back. Twice now he’s taken my evidence.”
“And this all leads to…”
“Somehow, someway, Nick is in with the smugglers.” She put her hands over her face. “First I fell for a gay guy, now a crook.”
“You’ve really fallen for him?”
“Maybe, a little. But I’m getting over it…I think.”
“You’re wrong on this, Dix. Jack contacted Denver, had Nick checked out. He’s just a chef, credentials and all.”
“That’s what makes Nick the perfect cover. No record, squeaky clean. Not a badass bone in his body. No tattoos or muscle shirt or bad teeth. No reason to suspect he had any connection to anything illegal.”
“Totally namby-pamby?”
“Well, most of the time.” She thought about their making love and there was nothing namby-pamby about that. “But I’ve got a plan. I’m going to be his friend, all right. Fact is, I’m going to stick to that no-good sidewinder like glue, and then I’ll let him lead me to the smugglers. I can get my story and fry his butt both at the same time! That double-crosser.”
She nodded at the entrance to the Sage. “And I can start now because the dear man’s at the door with a bouquet of flowers the size of Andy. Too bad Mr. Romero doesn’t realize they’re for his own funeral.”
Chapter Seven
Nick paused in the doorway of the Purple Sage, everyone taking in the flowers he held and him mostly hidden behind them. He had to do this. Not just to drive home the image that he was nothing but a milquetoast chef and to make peace with Dixie so she’d let him in on whatever she found out about the smugglers, but because he was sorry for a lot of things. He couldn’t confess all now, but with the flowers she’d understand that he cared—at least, he hoped so.
She looked great today. Hell, she looked great every day. Would he ever tire of her curls, her smile that was actually closer to a grin, her relentless energy and how she threw herself into whatever she believed in? Never.
He wound his way through the sparsely occupied tables and stopped in front of Dixie. Maggie stood. “I have to go. There’s been a buffalo encounter that requires my attention.” She smiled at Nick. “Nice flowers.”
Maggie left and he handed Dixie the bouquet. “Sorry if I offended you in any way last night, and thanks for directing me out of that ditch.”
She put the array on the table, then kissed him on the cheek. Okay, that reaction was better than he’d hoped for, except it didn’t fit. Where was the beady-eyed look that said It’s going to take a lot more than a roomful of posies to get me to even glance your way again, buster? Now, that was the Dixie he knew. The real Dixie. This Dixie…What the hell was she up to now? Only one way to find out: get her talking. “How about another picnic? My treat this time, since our last one got rained out.”
Her eyes brightened. “That’s a great idea. Pick any place that interests you.”
“I’m new here. You decide.”
“Your turn. You drive. We’ll jump in your slightly dented truck and go where the road takes us. Can you pick me up around two at Gracie’s? Second white frame on Bolder Street. I need to drop off my story at the Whistle Stop before we go. It’s about what happens when the only beauty salon in town closes.”
Nick grinned. “Guess I should duck for cover.”
“It’s not that kind of story. In fact, you’ll like it. Gracie’s opening a salon. Converting her basement. My story’s about one business closing and another starting up to fill the void. Now I just have to get Mr. Eversole to go for it. If a story doesn’t have to do with cattle or mining, he’s not interested. The Whistle Stop is so stuck in the fifties. After I drop off the article, I have to help Gracie move stuff around in the basement so she can start on the salon, and then we can go.”
“No sense in two women doing all that lugging. Wes is in town taking pictures.” He really was there so the two of them could meet Jack and plan what to do about the smugglers, but this would work, too. “He’d be glad to help Gracie. She can have all the stuff in the shed at my place. Wes can move it and we can get an earlier start.”
Dixie tipped her head. “You’re giving Gracie all those salon things?”
She flashed him one of those smiles that touched his heart and made him hate himself all the more for constantly lying to her. “She can cut my hair for free and we’ll call it even.”
He made for the door and she called to him, “Thanks for the flowers, Nick Romero.”
He left the diner. Dixie’s forgiveness had come way too easy. He’d expected it could take days to get her to talk to him again, and here she was, joining him on a picnic. No groveling necessary. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like Dixie.
He headed for his place to meet up with Jack and Wes. He wanted to show them the Tiffany bag and see if they’d heard anything new about the operation. He unlocked the front door to his place and went in. The new tiles and buckets of stucco were piled in the corner. The place would look great. Noises came from the kitchen, so he headed there, past the unpacked boxes of new china, wineglasses and utensils sitting against the wall. Everything very restaurantlike, keeping his cover legit for right now to satisfy nosy neighbors, and, all going with him when he left Whistlers Bend. The bureau should give him a gold star for footing the bill for all this. Then again, he would use everything later.
Jack and Wes sat at the kitchen table, chowing down on leftover ziti and drinking his beer. “Just make yourselves at home.”
“We did,” Wes said around a mouthful. “Damn, it’s great having a partner who can cook. You are the bomb in the kitchen, man.”
Jack held up a forkful of pasta in agreement, his mouth too full to talk. Nick pulled out a chair and sat on it backward. He put his hand on Wes’s shoulder. “And you’re just the man I want to see.”
Wes swallowed and grinned. “Take another truck off the road and need me to help out?”
Nick laughed. His no-secrets theory was right on the money. “Only if I meet up with the missing local buffalo again. The best part is a buffalo wasn’t the only thing I ran into on that mountain. The smugglers showed, using a pull-off behind a stand of pines where I slid off the road.”
Both men stopped eating and Jack said, “I’ll be damned. That’s the closest anyone’s gotten to them so far.”
“It wasn’t my choice. I was in the ditch and they didn’t know I was around. I heard them say they’d be coming back for another shipment in five days. That gives us four days to figure out where they’ll meet up. I’ve convinced Dixie to go on another picnic. We’ll go east of the depot. Maybe we’ll come across something that will help us narrow the places to stake out. She’s so damn lucky at stumbling across clues it’s frightening. Though I found this on my own.” He snagged the blue bag from his pocket and tossed it into the middle of the table. “Our smugglers are getting sloppy. A good sign.”
“I’ll scout around west of the depot where you went off the road,” Jack said.
“What am
I chopped liver?” Wes asked.
Nick grinned. “No, you’re the moving man. You’re going to help Dixie’s sister rearrange her basement. I volunteered you.”
Wes stabbed a meatball. “This is why I joined the FBI?”
“It’s the only way I could get Dixie out of the house with me now. We’ve got to start pulling this operation together. We’re running out of time.”
Nick made for the new Sub-Zero fridge to get stuff for sandwiches and salad.
Wes wolfed down the last of the pasta and Jack finished his beer, then stood. “Let me know if you find anything on your picnic. We’ll keep at this until we turn up some information. Like you said, we have four days. At least we know they’ll be back here then.”
Wes and Jack left, and Nick put together the lunch, adding a bottle of “Le More” from the Castelluccio Estates, where Celest lived. He and Dixie were all about business from here on out. No fooling around, no more chalet encounters. But he did have her to himself for an afternoon, and there was no reason not to enjoy Dixie as much as he could from afar. Except he hated afar. He wanted her close and he really wanted to make love to her again.
DIXIE EYED Nick’s pickup idling in the driveway. It looked a little scratched up, but not too bad. She grabbed her duffel and lugged it outside. He met her halfway up the brick walk and took the bag, the pans clattering. “What the hell is this? You’re hauling pans two days in row?”
Nick Romero was, without a doubt, the most handsome man God had put on earth, she thought as he added, “I brought lunch.” He rattled the pans, his eyes narrowing, a smile spreading across his lips. “You don’t have to cook.”
“The only way Eversole would print my story on Gracie’s salon and your restaurant was if I did a piece on mining. So, we’re going to pan for gold and you’re holding our equipment.”
And she’d so rather be holding his equipment, instead of just standing there talking to him. They’d been together less than five minutes and this was where her mind was already! What would happen after a couple of hours? This was no way to start a friendly picnic. Think friendly, friendly, friendly—not sex, sex, sex, she ordered herself.
A Fabulous Wedding Page 9
