“About time!” Jondell was saying. “I wondered if you’d show up. I have better things to do than wait around to see you tomorrow.” Jondell lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out aggressively. “So where’s my camping spot?”
“The campground rules say no smoking,” Desiree said. Jondell angrily threw the cigarette down and ground it out. “And no littering. Any infraction of the rules will be cause for dismissal. Catfish, please call me immediately if such an occasion arises.”
Jondell picked up the extinguished cigarette with ill grace.
“If you’ll follow Mr. Chilton into the office, he’ll sign you in.”
“We don’t take no checks from outsiders, either,” Catfish grunted. “Hope you got greenbacks.”
“I do. Now, give me my site.”
Desiree nodded, and Jondell followed Catfish into the trailer.
“No children in this camp, right?” Desiree asked Virgil as soon as the men were inside.
“No, they aren’t allowed. But there are some women here.”
“Have Jamie send someone to patrol this area at least two to three times a night, and let Catfish and Jondell know we’re doing it. Jondell isn’t stupid. If he’s going to cause trouble, he’ll do it when he won’t get caught. We’ll ask Catfish if he can stay until we get the patrol set up.”
“Got it.” In fact, I might be part of that patrol myself.
“Make sure Catfish puts Jondell as far away from the women’s tents as possible. I’m going to drop a few hints to the women here, as well.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Just what are you going to say?”
“Nothing that’ll make the town liable for a slander suit—just a word to the wise. They need to know. I know I’d want to.”
Desiree strode off again, leaving Virgil to check on Catfish. Virgil didn’t bother going inside the office. He hiked out to the very worst campsite available—one full of cactus and downwind from the outhouses. If he knew Catfish, that was where he’d assign Jondell.
Virgil was right. He could hear the two men arguing.
“Here ya go. This is it.”
“It stinks of outhouses! I demand a better site.”
“If ya got any complaints, you can take your bizness elsewhere.”
“I’ll take it to the law, you pompous jackass!”
That’s my cue, Virgil thought. He stepped forward, motioning Catfish to leave. The older man didn’t need any urging.
Virgil stepped forward until he and Jondell were inches apart.
“Mister, I don’t like hearing my friends insulted. I don’t like the way you talked to my sheriff. And I don’t like you.” Virgil stepped even closer, his right hand guarding his gun. “I don’t like who you are, I don’t like what you’ve done, and I don’t like you living in my town.”
“I’m entitled!” Jondell replied.
“Only as long as you respect the law.”
“I’m not here to make trouble.”
“Glad to hear it. If you have any problems, report them to our deputies. They’ll be driving by quite often—just to check on things. We’re a small town, Mr. Jondell. A nice town. We aim to keep it that way.”
He didn’t bother touching his thumb and forefinger to the brim of his hat. The man deserved no farewell salute, no mark of respect.
Virgil left Jondell alone and met Desiree back at the hitching post.
“Catfish has agreed to stay here until the first patrol swings by,” she said. “I’m ready when you are.”
Within minutes they were mounted and riding home toward the Silver Dollar.
The lower rim of the sun’s outline was already dipping behind the western horizon. Bats oiled their wings, owls preened their feathers, and other night creatures began to stir, while the day creatures sought shelter. Far off, a coyote howled, its call repeated by its mate a few seconds later. The silence could be unnerving or comforting. The desert was a study in contrasts. Droughts and monsoons, searing days and frigid nights, leafy trees and sharply barbed cacti.
What was it about the desert, about Tombstone, that brought into focus the elemental differences of nature? The balance of life? And the lack of balance in his?
“So, you about ready for dinner?” she asked when they were halfway home.
I’m ready for a change. Wyatt saw that. I’m ready to settle down again and this time get it right. But with whom? The inexperienced, maddening...attractive Desiree Hartlan? Even if I thought she was the one—which I don’t, damn it!—I doubt she’d have me. Where did my life go wrong? He didn’t have time to contemplate that question.
“Hel-lo Virgil?”
He jerked her way. “What?”
“Just trying to make conversation,” she said easily.
“Later.” His lips drew together in a thin line as he turned from her again. He focused the reflexes and concentration that had kept him at the top of his field all these years. “We’re being followed.”
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. Desiree pointed to a rocky outcropping in the distance. “Over there.”
“No. Over there.” Virgil handed her his reins. “Here. Keep riding.”
“But...”
He slid off his horse.
“Virgil, where are you—”
He’d already gone into the shadows. He circled around behind the horses and off to the side, moving through the taller cacti carefully, quietly, like the predator he knew he was. This was his town, his land, his family being threatened. Surely Jondell wouldn’t be stupid enough to stalk them? Or was he stalking Desiree? What if he had a partner they didn’t know about?
That possibility made his insides tighten with apprehension. I thought I left all this sickness behind. But how could he, a deputy, guard a rookie sheriff who insisted she was his superior?
He heard the sound of cantering. Startled, he emerged from behind the safe camouflage of a mesquite tree to check on their horses’ location again. What he saw astounded him. Desiree was running her horse at an easy clip toward his location, Onyx’s reins looped twice around her saddle horn.
“I told you to stay put!” he yelled, more afraid for her than for himself.
She slowed and dropped his reins, then rushed past him. He barely managed to catch the reins and hold on to his horse.
“Desiree, come back!”
He felt her excitement, the familiar thrill of the chase. That animation, the heightening of senses made her seem so very alive.
It could also get her killed.
The fact that she could rush off in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation frightened him. A thin cry rose from her quarry. Before it died out, he was back on his horse, urging Onyx toward her. He continued to watch as she reached for the rope that was part of all ranch tack, shook out a loop and tossed it through the air.
“Desiree, what’s happening?” he cried out. He didn’t know what to anticipate, what to prepare for in the shadows of early night. It was a helpless feeling that everyone who wore a badge experienced at one time or another, and that Virgil particularly hated. He liked being in control.
Another cry, this time of frustration, rose from her captured victim.
“Sheriff! Are you all right? Answer me!” he demanded.
Finally, to his relief, she did.
“It’s okay, Deputy. I just nabbed me a Bodine!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
VIRGIL CAUGHT UP with Desiree, dismounted and stared at Travis. His son’s surfer cap had flown in one direction, his water bottle in another, and the boy himself was lassoed by her rope.
“Travis? What are you doing out here?” Virgil slid off his horse and loosened the lariat that bound him.
“It was boring at the house, so I went for a jog.”
“Jogging in the desert? You could have been hurt or worse! Didn’t I just warn you about Jondell? He’s a dangerous man!” He fought to gain control of his temper. “And you, lady. What were you thinking, going after my son like he was a wild javelina!”
Desiree stayed mounted and recoiled the excess rope. “Sorry about that. I had no idea it was Travis.”
“That makes it even more dangerous! He could have been an armed assailant, and you think you’re Annie Oakley. What the hell does a lawyer know about roping anyway?”
“I know enough...”
“Could you teach me to rope like that?” the boy asked eagerly.
“Uh...probably. Can you throw a Frisbee?”
“Sure.”
“My mother always said if you could throw a Frisbee, you could throw a lariat.”
“What?” Virgil harshly interrupted.
Desiree addressed him. “Caro and I learned to do this when we were kids. The whole loop is preshaped and waxed, so it isn’t that hard to—”
“Don’t tell me about lariats! I know about lariats! What I don’t know is who has fewer brains—you or Travis! Travis has been told there’s a madman loose, and you two go play Ropes of the Wild West! Doesn’t either of you ever think?”
Silence. Even in the fading light, Virgil could see that his son was fighting hard not to cry. Desiree had actually dropped the lariat. The loop and the rest of it lay scattered on the ground. Virgil found himself shaking. The beauty of the setting sun, the graceful shadows thrown by the saguaro—none of it meant anything to him because of the fear he’d had for his son...and Desiree. When had his concern for an inexperienced superior taken on such a sharp edge, become so intense? He reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem; Travis was.
Desiree was the first to act. She dismounted and placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I thought you were someone else.”
“Travis, you’re going home now.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the order was implicit. Travis started to run.
“Not on foot! Get back here!”
Travis hurried back. Desiree picked up his hat and bottle of water, plus the lariat, and stuffed them in her saddlebags.
“I can’t believe the stupidity...”
“Virgil, please.” Her calm voice cut through his jumbled mix of anger and relief. “We can discuss this later. Travis, give your father your hand. Time to go home. It’s getting dark.”
She watched the two mount up, Virgil in front, Travis in back, then swung herself onto Pearl Drop. The horses headed eagerly toward home, the cooling temperatures and the promise of their evening meal speeding their pace. The three riders were tense and silent. The awkward tension lasted through the mandatory gun lock-up, pre-dinner preparations and the evening meal itself. Afterward, Virgil sent Travis upstairs to shower without dessert. Everyone else stayed for Cook’s special apple pie.
Desiree wasn’t in the mood. She cleared her dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, the after-meal routine, then went upstairs, Oscar in tow. Virgil immediately followed her into her bedroom.
“We need to talk,” he said curtly.
“You know, you seem to make a habit of barging into my room without knocking.”
He closed the door behind her. “That’s the least of your problems... Sheriff.”
She picked up the dachshund and sank cross-legged on the bed, boots and all, the dog in her lap.
“I’d say you’re the one with problems. As in plural. Where do you want me to start? With Travis or with your attitude to working for me?”
“Don’t you lecture me on my son.”
“This isn’t a lecture.” Her next move surprised him. She reached for his hand and pulled him down onto the bed next to her. “Take a load off, Virgil Bodine, and listen. I know you were worried about Travis out there. I was worried, too! But I thought I was hog-tying Jondell, not your son.”
“You should have followed my orders.”
“You should have waited for mine. But that’s a discussion we can have another time. Right now I want to talk—not lecture, but talk—about Travis.” She stroked the little dog’s head and gently scratched behind his ears. “I’ve tried to picture things from Travis’s point of view. He’s been confined and guarded all his life. No ten-year-old boy wants to think he needs a baby-sitter. Now that he’s in a new place, it seems to me he’s trying out some changes. Like being more independent.”
“He needs someone!”
“That’s right. He needs you.” The dog flipped over on his back and, upside-down, wagged his tail. Desiree smiled. “All right, little guy.”
Lord, she’s beautiful when she smiles like that. Not that a smile and a pretty face were going to influence him.
She rubbed the dog’s belly, enjoying Oscar’s moan of contentment. “Oscar and Travis are in the same boat. We’ve dragged them both away from everything they know, everything familiar to them. I know Oscar needs extra attention to adapt.”
Virgil tensed. “You’re saying I’m neglecting my son?”
Desiree scratched the dog’s soft neck. “Heavens, no. What I’m saying is...Tombstone may be your home, but it isn’t his. Not yet. Travis is dealing with the loss of his house, his friends, his tutor. He’s probably going to see even less of his mother than he did before. It’s got to be hard on him. You made the choice to come back. Did Travis have any say in the matter?”
Virgil shifted uneasily on the bed. Oscar rolled over to rest his head on Desiree’s knee, the dog’s eyes watching him as carefully as hers.
“I’m guessing he didn’t, did he?”
“Travis is a child. I’m an adult. I know what’s best for him.”
“I’m not arguing with that.”
“Then what’s your point?”
“Just this. Travis has been exploring the desert on his own. He even asked me about roping, something I’m sure kids in California don’t do. He’s helping out with Caro and Oscar, trying to fit in. Yet tonight...” Her voice tactfully trailed off.
Virgil’s ingrained honesty kicked in. I slapped him down. That’s what I did.
“I know you’re worried about me doing this job,” she continued. “But for better or worse, it’s my headache, not yours. Why don’t you worry about Travis and let me worry about Jondell?”
That request irritated him. “Don’t tell me how to do my job, either.” Virgil impatiently rose from the bed, annoyed with Travis, himself, Desiree, even her dog. “I’m a good lawman and a good father.”
“I wasn’t criticizing your parenting skills. I was just offering some advice as a concerned observer.”
“When it comes to Travis, don’t. Your lapdog there isn’t a qualification for parenthood any more than your law degree qualifies you to wear a badge.”
He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, even though they were sparked by concern for his son—and for her. The hurt look in Desiree’s eyes was more punishment than he could have imagined.
“I didn’t mean to sound—” He took a deep breath. “That didn’t come out right. I just think you—” He was searching for words, like a politician caught with his hand in the till.
She toyed with the dog’s ears. “Should have minded my own business. You’re right. He’s your son.”
“I—”
“Dad! I can’t find the toothpaste!”
Virgil started, stopped and uncharacteristically hesitated, unwilling to leave that expression on her face.
“You’d better go,” she said.
He did, reluctantly closing the door behind him. Once out in the hall, Virgil drew in another deep breath. Wyatt passed him in the hall, then came to an abrupt halt.
“You okay, Virg?”
“I thought I was, until I began dealing with Desiree Hartlan.”
“Oh?”
Virgil ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but she’s just...I mean... Damn it, Wyatt, I’ve never had any problem having a civil conversation with a woman before. Why does she take everything the wrong way?”
Wyatt smiled. “Those Hartlans know how to raise a man’s dander, all right.” He flipped a new tube of toothpaste over to Virgil with one hand and passed
him a bag with the other. “Here. You left your things downstairs.”
Virgil recognized the bag of snacks, comic books and magazines he’d bought earlier. He dropped the toothpaste inside. “Thanks, Wyatt.”
Wyatt clapped his brother on the shoulder and with a fond, “See you in the morning,” headed down the hall. Virgil did the same, stopping just outside the bedroom he and Travis shared.
Travis was sitting on his bed, dressed in a pair of surfing shorts. His lanky legs were drawn up against his chest, and his cheek rested against his knees. The long bangs were clear of his eyes, leaving visible an expression of pain very much like the one he’d just left.
Virgil looked around, noting the lack of a boom box, television, computer, surfing posters, swim fins, body boards—all of the things Travis loved. Desiree was right. Travis is a fish out of water. What’s worse, he has to bunk with his father. So much for the privacy he used to have. Virgil stood awkwardly at the door, his love for his son so fierce it caused his throat to tighten. Finally he knocked lightly, then stepped inside.
“Hey, big guy.” Virgil saw the red-rimmed eyes. “How’s it going?”
Travis shrugged.
Virgil sat down on the bed next to him. “Pretty bad, huh?”
“I’m grounded, right?”
“Nope. First I drag you away from home, then I leave you alone for a new job, then I yell at you for exploring. I should ground myself. How many days do you think I should get?”
Travis lifted his head from his knees. “Why bother? There’s nothing here to ground you from. Not even the beach.”
“I could shovel horse manure. That’s what my dad always made me do for my punishment.”
Travis snorted. “Yeah, you probably liked it. Nothing like getting away from the house.”
Virgil straightened at his son’s insight. He’s absolutely right. I did like it. I loved everything about the outdoors—just like Travis. He gathered his stiff, resisting son onto his lap.
“You know, I’ve decided we’re not going to sell our place in L.A., after all.”
Much of the boy’s stiffness vanished. “Really?”
She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787) Page 10
