“He has...personal reasons,” Desiree hedged.
Virgil seemed taken aback. “Wyatt would have told me. He should have told me, and asked for my help!”
“He said you were having trouble with Travis—that the move was difficult.”
“Is that all he said?”
“He was pretty vague about it.” Desiree remembered. “Wyatt said your son was dealing with preteen problems, or something.”
“Yeah. Or something.”
Those words were clearly a no-trespassing sign. “Well... maybe Wyatt didn’t want to burden you with his own troubles.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Wyatt. But if he’d needed me to help out, I’d have come in a flash. What’s he keeping from me?”
Desiree hesitated. She and Caro, like the Bodines, kept their personal business personal. But in this case, she decided to relent. Virgil would find out soon enough why Wyatt was stepping down from the sheriff’s position.
“Caro’s pregnant.”
“She’s what? But I just talked to him recently! He didn’t say a word.”
“Not only that, she’s having problems again.”
“Oh, no.”
Desiree didn’t need to go into explanations. Five years ago, severe hemorrhaging in the first trimester of her pregnancy had nearly killed both Caro and her baby daughter, Catherine, who had been born a month premature. Wyatt had taken a year off to help look after his family, letting his senior deputy and youngest brother, Morgan Bodine, take over in his absence. Now the same situation was happening again.
“Wyatt did tell me Caro had some kind of uterine defect.” Virgil spoke with a rancher’s bluntness about breeding. “They’d decided no more children on the advice of her doctor.”
Desiree’s glance was significant. “Oops.”
“Damn. I don’t suppose she’d consider—”
“Not a chance. Caro was ready to fire her obstetrician when she suggested it. Wyatt’s worried, but he’s supporting her decision to try to reach term with this child. The doctor’s warned them to be prepared for a miscarriage.” What Desiree didn’t add was that the doctor wanted Caro to agree to a permanent form of birth control afterward. Sadly, pregnancy would always be a health risk for her sister.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I’d known.”
“I imagine Wyatt would have told you sooner or later. But that’s why he’s not running for sheriff and I am. I’d already planned to leave Phoenix permanently. I was going to stay at the Silver Dollar for a while to help Caro out before I lost my job. And now...Wyatt’s dropping out and I need a job.”
“Maybe I should step in,” Virgil said firmly.
“You? But I’m here.”
“If you run, who’ll help your sister?” he countered.
“Mom wanted to come, but her judicial circuit is backed up. And even if it wasn’t, she could hardly stay in Tombstone for long.... I’ll think of something. I won’t leave Caro in the lurch.”
“Especially if you don’t win the election. You’re also forgetting about Morgan. He filled in last time for Wyatt.”
Desiree passed a slow-moving truck carrying raw Arizona cotton before answering. “Morgan won’t run. He and Jasentha have too much work running the bat sanctuary.”
The old Silver Dollar Mine and the natural cave system on Bodine land had been Morgan’s wedding present to his wife, ecologist Jasentha Cliffwalker. Four years ago, the property had been partially opened to the public. Morgan had become the chief park ranger and security officer, for not only was the Silver Dollar home to several endangered species, it also contained ancient Anasazi petroglyphs.
“Jaz could hire temporary help,” Virgil suggested.
“A temp? Virgil, this isn’t a typing pool! There aren’t that many bat specialists around, let alone spare replacements. Morgan is the replacement. He’s passed on Wyatt’s job since Jasentha’s pregnant herself.”
“I knew that, but last I heard she was fine.”
“She is fine, but she’s almost eight months along.”
“Eight months?”
He’s right. He is out of touch. “Morgan doesn’t want to miss the birth. Soon he’ll be running the preserve without her, in addition to keeping on top of security. That’ll continue for some time, I expect.”
“No wonder he’s bowed out,” Virgil mused. “Damn, Wyatt should have told me! Is Jamie running ?”
“Who?”
“Jamie. He became chief deputy when Morgan left to work with Jasentha.”
“I don’t know about him, but Caro filed my paperwork, and she said I was accepted on the ballot. So far, I’m unopposed.” Desiree smiled. “That means a pretty easy campaign. I’ve given up my apartment in Phoenix and stored my furniture. I’m ready to become the sheriff of Tombstone.”
“Perhaps you were a bit hasty, Ms. Hartlan. Because that’s what I’m planning to do.”
“Sorry, Virgil, but I think it’s too late for you to file.”
“I’m sure it’s not. I’m still a resident of Tombstone—a deputized resident, at that. I’ve never given up my badge, my hometown—or. my hometown taxes. I’m sure I can make that deadline. Tombstone needs an experienced sheriff.” His glance was pointed. “As of now, you’ve got competition. Me.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE SILVER DOLLAR RANCH, named after the old Silver Dollar Mine, had quieted for the evening. The Arabian broodmares, the proud stallions and their off “spring were grained and in their appropriate barns or pastures. The single ranch hands were in the bunkhouse, while the married hands headed for their homes in Tombstone proper and the surrounding area. Ranch dogs, amply fed, contentedly sprawled in dwindling shade for a well-deserved snooze. Above the Silver Dollar Sanctuary, bats left the old mine and the natural caves to feast on insects and cactus nectar.
All over the ranch, humans and animals alike relaxed as the setting sun heralded the welcome coolness of a desert evening. Everyone except a shaken Desiree Hartian. After a brief reunion with Caro and the Bodines, she’d been shown to her room.
“I can’t believe this.” Desiree started to unpack her clothes and efficiently transfer them to the closet and dresser in the bedroom that was now hers. “Virgil wants to run against me! Since I was the only candidate, I figured I’d be automatically sworn in.”
“And now there’s going to be a bona fide election.” Caro pursed her lips. “Wyatt hadn’t even bothered telling Virgil he was taking time off. Virgil’s never shown any interest in coming home to stay. His sudden move back here was a surprise, but even then, Wyatt and I assumed it wouldn’t last long.”
“You’re surprised? What about me? I’m telling him my plans during the drive down and boom—he tells me he’s going to take the job instead. It almost seemed as if he’d decided to win just so I won’t!”
Caro Hartlan, sitting cross-legged on the double bed amid the suitcases, sighed. “It does seem pretty impulsive on his part.”
“You mean downright nasty. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.”
“He would have found out anyway. Maybe Virgil’s serious about staying in Tombstone, after all, and that’s why he’s jumping on this job. Perhaps you shouldn’t take his running personally.”
“I take it very personally!” She frowned. “You don’t think Virgil’s really serious about this, do you, Caro?”
“Bodine men are like the sunrise and sunset. No one can stop them once they’ve made up their minds.”
“What about the deadline for applying to run? Hasn’t it passed?”
Caro shrugged. “I don’t know. Even if it has, he’s legally allowed to mount a write-in campaign if he doesn’t get his name printed on the ballot.”
“Great. Either way, there goes my unopposed status as the only candidate.”
“I’m afraid so. Unless he moves back to California.” She sighed. “If he does run—and I think he will—things’ll get complicated around here.”
Desiree groaned. “Tell me the worst.”
> “Well, Wyatt’ll be rooting for Virgil. He’s already said so. Jasentha, too.”
“Morgan’s wife decided that quickly? Lord, I’ve only been here a day and already everyone’s choosing up sides. What about Morgan?”
“He works nights and sleeps days when he’s dealing with the bats, so I don’t see him a whole lot. When he’s working days with the tourists, I still don’t see him. It’s hard to say who he’s supporting.”
“He’s a Bodine,” Desiree said glumly. “I can guess.”
“Never fear, I’m on your side. You may be inexperienced, but you’re a fast learner.” Caro reached across the bed to give Desiree a hand unpacking.
“Thanks, sis... Hey!” Desiree snatched away a pile of clothes so abruptly that Oscar lifted his head from the throw rug at her feet. “Don’t even think of it or I’ll call Wyatt and Mom.”
“I hate being helpless.”
“Yeah, well, helpless means healthy in your case. I wish you didn’t look so miserable.” Desiree studied her sister closely. Caro was barely two months pregnant, yet her face, framed by shoulder-length brunette hair, was uncharacteristically pale and thin. Her prominent cheekbones appeared gaunt beneath dull brown eyes that usually sparkled with laughter. Her job as forensics consultant with police departments all over the nation was on hold for the moment. But even being home from work hadn’t helped Caro’s appearance.
“Thanks a lot. I’ve seen you looking more chipper yourself.”
“Hey, I’ve been cleaning and packing!” Desiree stole a glance at herself in the mirror. The geometric haircut she preferred for the courtroom was a bit shaggy now. But since her courtroom days were over, she hadn’t expended any time or effort on taming her blond curls into the straight sleekness that projected a more professional image. I do need a trim, don’t I.”
“I’m not talking about your hair. You’ve got bags under your eyes.”
True, there were circles under her blue eyes, but they were from fatigue and job-related stress. “I was up late packing.”
Caro lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, I was!” At least I don’t look like a bleached sheet on laundry day. “Don’t worry about me, Caro. You concentrate on yourself and the baby.”
“I still worry. That sick man—that rapist...”
“Jondell is home with his loyal wife, God help her. But how are you feeling, Caro? What does the doctor say?”
“So far, so good. I swear I’m not going to have this baby early. Poor Cat.”
“Poor Caro.” Desiree gave her sister an impulsive hug. “I’m here to help.” And if Virgil has his way, I’ll have lots of free time on my hands after the election. “We can go shopping for the baby and—oh, do whatever you want, okay?”
“Let’s wait until after the election’s over. And remember, I’m the one with all the free time. Maybe I can answer the phone or stuff campaign envelopes for you-the doctor couldn’t argue with that. I stopped work just a few weeks ago and already I’m bored to tears.”
“Here.” Desiree tossed Caro a T-shirt. “Fold this, then. If you do a good job, I’ll let you do another one,” she teased.
“Can I come in?” The sisters looked up to see a very pregnant Jasentha Cliffwalker—Morgan’s wife—appear before the open bedroom door with an armload of towels. “I brought you these.”
“Thanks.” Desiree stretched out her arms, but Jasentha shook her head. “I’ll put them in the guest bathroom—it’s right across the hall. Morgan said to tell you dinner’s in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks again.”
Jasentha nodded and left, walking with the grace, balance and agility that had always distinguished her.
Caro sighed once Jasentha was out of sight. “I am so envious. She looks better at eight months than I do at two. And she’s still working—not climbing, mind you, but doing everything else. Can you believe it? I can’t even push a vacuum cleaner.”
Desiree gave her sister a mocking shake of the head and deliberately made her tone light. “A great husband, a healthy daughter, another baby on the way, a job that’ll wait for you—and the doctor won’t let you vacuum. You have such a miserable life, Caro. I don’t know how you manage.”
Caro sat up, a sheepish grin on her face. “I do sound whiny, don’t I. It must be the hormones.”
“Why don’t you go put your feet up for a few minutes? I’ll finish putting my things away, take a quick shower and meet you in the dining room.”
“Don’t be long.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Desiree.”
“Thanks for inviting me. I hope it isn’t too much for you.”
“Never.” Caro left, smiling at her sister. Desiree resolved to act just as cheerful whenever they were together. Her problems were the last thing a woman with a high-risk pregnancy needed to hear—even if one of those problems, Virgil Bodine, was living under the same roof.
DESIREE HURRIED DOWN the stairs of the family’s two-story ranch house. She was late for dinner, thanks to a phone call from her mother, who wanted to make sure she’d arrived safely. She’d had to rush her shower. Then Oscar started whimpering when she tried to leave him behind.
“Now, don’t be a baby. You’ve been here before.”
Oscar continued to whimper.
“Striker’s outside, you know.” From her bedroom window, she’d seen Jasentha’s dog, a black German shepherd, eating near the barn with the other ranch dogs. Oscar was always nervous around the somewhat feral, larger guard dog, no matter how many times he’d visited the ranch. Even when Morgan took the dogs to the caves, Oscar was nervous in areas Striker frequented. Like this house, unless he was close to Desiree.
“You’re safe in here.”
Oscar whimpered louder, then yipped nervously with fear, his eyes showing their whites.
“Oh, all right I can hardly expect you to go from spoiled pet to ranch dog overnight. But you’d better get used to this place, Oscar. I can’t carry you around forever.”
Hair still damp, she picked up the dog and prayed everyone had started eating without her.
They hadn’t. When she finally reached the dining room, all eyes turned her way. The whole Bodine clan waited for her at a long, generations-old table with Spanish-style chairs. It was positioned directly under a huge, authentic wagon-wheel set with globes holding wax tapers. They lit a warm welcome, and Desiree was glad the candles had been used tonight instead of the electric lights.
At the head of the table sat the middle brother, Wyatt Earp Bodine. Since he was the owner of most of the Arabian stock on the ranch, that position was his to fill. Morgan Earp Bodine and his wife, Jasentha Cliffwalker, took the right side of the table. They were joined by Jasentha’s divorced father, Rogelio Cliffwalker. Rogelio, the Silver Dollar’s master of horse for four decades, flanked Jasentha. At Rogelio’s side was sixteen-year-old Ben Kodaseet Cliffwalker, the Apache orphan he’d adopted some years after the death of his own son.
At the left, next to Wyatt, sat Caro and their five-year-old daughter, Cat. Virgil sat opposite Wyatt; Cat and Travis were seated side by side. Travis was the first to speak.
“Your hair looks like Shirley Temple!”
“Spoken like a true Hollywood native,” Wyatt drawled. Desiree noticed that Virgil didn’t face his son but kept his attention on her.
Desiree wished she was like Caro, who never blushed. “Sorry, everyone.” She lowered Oscar to the floor. “Mom called, Caro, or I would have been down sooner.”
“We don’t mind waiting, do we?” Wyatt said as he and the other men rose to their feet. Travis stood, as well, with no prompting from his father. “Please, have a seat,” Wyatt urged.
It was heavenly to sit back, eat, listen to caring people instead of agitated lawyers and clients. Once again she was struck by the resemblance among the three brothers. From Virgil, the oldest, down to Morgan, the youngest, there was no doubt the three were blood kin. They were all over six feet, with a lean, wiry b
uild that was deceptively strong. All three brothers had slate blue eyes, straight blond-brown hair and sharply defined features. At a distance, one could easily pass for the other, even among family and friends.
Their voices sounded alike, too, especially on the phone, but Desiree had more than a passing acquaintance with the three men. She could pick out subtle differences. Wyatt, with his controlled strength, physical and emotional, was the perfect partner for Caro, who had a wicked sense of humor and a serene personality. Morgan, too, was easygoing and the most sociable of the brothers. His wife, Jasentha, was much more reserved, but husband and wife moved with a slow grace that kept them safe on the cliffs they both loved.
Virgil preferred to stay in the background, but when he did emerge, he was fast; he moved like a mountain cougar after prey. Desiree knew that Virgil, like his brothers, could be a powerful ally—or a formidable enemy. And this is the man I have to run against? That subject, thank heavens, had been tactfully avoided so far.
Obviously, she’d relaxed too soon. “Aunt Desiree, are you really going to run against Dad for sheriff?” Travis asked, mispronouncing her name.
Out of the mouths of babes. “That’s Desir-ray,” she gently corrected. “Just call me Ray. And yes, I am.”
“You’ll lose,” Travis predicted.
“You don’t know that, son,” Virgil said. L.A.-born Travis grimaced as his father spread refritos on his bread, Mexican-style.
“Well, at least you haven’t gone all Hollywood on us, Virg.” Morgan reached for the refritos himself. “Pass the tortillas, would you, Cat?”
Cat had to lean over to pass them. “Wanna know a secret?” she whispered to Travis in a voice loud enough to be heard by all. “Auntie Ray hates her name.”
“How come?” Travis asked.
“It’s French for longed for or desired,” Desiree said. “I don’t know what my parents were thinking. It’s a terribly sappy name that’s caused me more problems at work...”
“But you got fired,” Cat finished. “So you don’t hafta worry.”
“Catherine!” moaned her parents.
The subject was quickly changed, but when dessert was over and most of the family had disappeared, it came up again, this time from Virgil himself.
She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787) Page 3
