Shades of a Desperado

by Sharon Sala

  “He may be slow, but he’s sure,” Rachel said.

  “The only thing he’s sure about is that he’s going to get his five-fifty an hour, no matter how much work he puts out.”

  Rachel laughed. “Who put the bee in your bonnet?”

  “You,” Charlie said, and pointed at Ken as he came out of the store. “Damn it, Rachel, I miss smelling your wildflower perfume. He doesn’t smell like wildflowers.”

  Ken laughed. “And may I say my wife is heartily thankful for that. You might also like to know I don’t wrap bandages right, and I hit all the holes in the road, and I—”

  Charlie threw up his hands. “So I’ve been griping a bit.”

  Rachel grinned. “Charlie always gripes. The trick is not to pay any attention until it matters.” Her grin widened. “I know. Maybe you should just buy a bottle of my perfume. That way, when he gets testy, you can just sprinkle a little bit on him to sweeten him up.”

  “Okay, that does it,” Charlie said. “Get in. We’re taking you for a ride.”

  Rachel looked startled. “No, I think I’d better...”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Charlie muttered. “We’re only going to the Adam’s Rib to eat lunch. You still eat, don’t you?”

  “Only if you’re paying.”

  “You asked for that, buddy,” Ken said, as he opened the door and crawled inside first, stepping between the seats and into the back, where the patients were transported, leaving the empty seat for her.

  “Hey,” Charlie said. “How come you’re limping?”

  “I cut the bottom of my foot. It’s nothing.”

  “Want me to take a look at it for you?”

  Rachel grinned as she slid into the seat. “No thanks, I still know how to doctor my own boo-boos, thank you. Besides, I know an excuse to play with my feet when I hear one.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Charlie said, and took off for the café with a grin on his face and the wind in his hair.

  Rachel glanced down at his hand, her eyes widening at the ornate gold ring he was wearing. Impulsively she started to remark about its sudden appearance, but Ken caught her eye and shook his head, warning her away from that tack.

  She shrugged and let the thought go, but as they parked and got out, it crossed her mind that her life wasn’t the only one undergoing drastic changes. Lois Klein had told Joanie, and Joanie had told her, that Charlie had paid off the note on his house. Add to that the new car he’d just bought and the ring on his hand, and either Charlie had a fairy godmother he’d wasn’t talking about, or he’d won the lottery and was hoping to hide the fact from the IRS.

  They entered the café, laughing and talking as old friends do, only to come face-to-face with Griff and Lois having lunch. Griff’s face turned red, while Lois’s glowed. All Rachel felt was relief.

  “Hi, guys,” Rachel said brightly. “What’s good today?”

  “We’re having the special,” Lois said, adding extra emphasis on the we.

  Griff stood and started pulling out an empty chair for her. “We’d be glad to share a table. It’s pretty crowded in here today.”

  But Charlie was having none of that. “Thanks,” he said, “but there’s an empty one over there.”

  There was nothing for Griffin to do but watch Rachel disappear through the crowd with the two men. He sat down, his food forgotten, and tried not to glare at the woman sitting at his table. Why? Why couldn’t Rachel be as pliable as Lois?

  Lois beamed under his tense observation, unaware of the turn his thoughts had taken.

  A little while later, the bell over the front door jingled again and, out of curiosity, Rachel looked up—and came dose to choking. Hoping Charlie hadn’t noticed, she looked down at her plate; then, like a magnet, her gaze was drawn up again, and she stared, unable to take her eyes from the men who’d entered.

  Snake never saw her. Tommy Joe, too, was focused on food. But Boone seemed to know she was there before the door swung shut behind him. Like a heat-seeking missile, his gaze locked on hers, and a wry smile tilted the right-hand corner of his mouth. The look he gave her was intimate, the smile secretive.

  Griffin Ross saw the whole thing, from Boone’s entry into the café to Rachel’s blush and smile. He stared in disbelief, clutching his table knife as if it were a switchblade and fighting the urge to plunge it into the big man’s back as he passed their table.

  My God, Rachel, how could you?

  Rage shook him as he flung down the knife and a handful of bills and stalked out the door, Lois hustling along behind in mute confusion.

  The three men came nearer, and Rachel caught herself holding her breath and watching the changing expressions on Boone’s face. Once again their gazes met, and his moved first, from her eyes to her mouth. She felt hot and at the same time cold as she realized he was remembering their kiss. Embarrassed and a little bit panicked, she looked away.

  As they neared the table where she was sitting, his footsteps slowed and then stopped. Certain he was about to make a big scene, she kept her eyes on her plate and-clutched at the napkin in her lap. Moments later, she realized he’d stepped aside to let a busboy pass, and tried to relax. But with him standing only inches away, it was impossible.

  Keep your eyes on your plate, she told herself. It was no use. She could no more have looked away than she could have stopped breathing. She raised her head and got caught in the dark, silent power of his gaze.

  “Excuse us,” he said softly, and then moved on, well aware of the flush he’d left staining her face.

  Charlie saw enough to worry about, but never got a chance to inquire. At that moment, his pager went off. He and Ken started digging in their pockets.

  “Sorry, Rachel, duty calls,” Charlie said, as he and Ken tossed their money on the table and bolted out the door, leaving her behind to finish alone.

  She fiddled with her tea, sipping and stirring until the hair on the back of her neck started to rise. She didn’t have to turn around to know Boone was staring. His spirit was all around her.

  The urge to get out from under the weight of his presence was overwhelming. She stood up too fast, stumbling as she put too much weight too suddenly on her sore foot. All the way to the door, she kept reminding herself, I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid

  And, in a way, it was true. Alone, Boone MacDonald posed no threat, but when she saw him with the company he kept, she was reminded of who and what he really was—a man who undoubtedly lived on the wrong side of the law.

  When she was halfway out the door, someone gripped her shoulder, and she didn’t have to look back to know who it was.

  “Need a ride?” he asked softly, glancing down at her foot.

  She looked over his shoulder, expecting Snake and Tommy Joe to be at his heels.

  “I’m alone,” Boone said, answering her unspoken question as to the other men’s whereabouts.

  “Thanks, but I think I can—”

  “You gave me a ride. I’m only returning the favor.”

  Rachel thought of the half-mile trek to get back to her car and the pain already throbbing in her foot.

  “Okay.”

  It would have been impossible for Boone to describe his relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a great big first step in trusting him. He hurried ahead to open the truck door for her.

  In the act of trying to seat herself, Rachel was suddenly lifted and scooted inside before she could argue the fact.

  “Don’t fuss. Last night I carried you, and you didn’t complain. You can’t begrudge a small boost.”

  She refused to look at him all the way to Jimmy’s Place. He pulled up and parked, then jumped out before she could move. In seconds he’d come around to her door and was helping her out.

  “Easy does it,” he said gently, taking both her hands and easing her out of the seat.

  It was only after she was firmly standing on both feet that he realized they were still holding hands. This time he was the one who started to panic.


  “Boone?”

  Let her go, you fool. Mesmerized by the look in her eyes, he wasn’t strong enough to follow his own advice.

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you ever been to South Dakota?”

  Gut-shot by the question, and scared to death of why she’d asked, he froze. Boone MacDonald hadn’t been there, but he was born there. It took everything Boone had not to panic. Instinctively he stepped back, putting some distance between himself and the shock. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he gave her a cold, questioning stare.

  “No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

  Rachel shrugged. “No reason. It’s just that while I was there last week, I saw some—”

  He grabbed her by the arm, and this time he made no attempt to hide the anger in his voice. “You were there? Why?”

  “You’re hurting me,” Rachel said.

  The accusation shocked him. He turned her loose as quickly as he’d grabbed her, and wondered if he was losing his mind. He’d known better than to do this. Rule one in undercover work was to stay focused on the assumed identity. Never let a piece of your real self show through. Boone MacDonald wouldn’t have had a damn thing to do with a woman like Rachel Brant. It was the man he was who’d been drawn to her. I’m the one who keeps coming back, time after time. And I’m the one who will suffer if anything goes wrong.

  “As I was saying,” Rachel said, “the state historical society has a wonderful display on Deadwood. You know...all the gold-rush stuff, and Wild Bill Hickok and—” she shrugged “—and things. I wondered if you’d ever seen it.”

  Too stunned to speak, all he could do was shake his head.

  Accepting the disappointment, all Rachel could do was try to smile. “Then that’s that,” she said. “Thanks for the ride. I guess I’d better go see if Stu is through with my car.”

  She limped away, and he tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter. People took trips. Trips to anywhere they chose. But why, he wondered? Of all the places in the world to see, why on earth South Dakota? Unless...

  He got in his truck and drove out of town, leaving Snake and Tommy Joe to get back to their vehicles as best they could. He had a sudden need to find out all he could about Rachel Brant.

  Chapter 10

  Boone wasted no time in digging into Rachel Brant’s past. To his relief, it seemed she was all she claimed to be. Orphaned at the age of twenty-one. A certified EMT. Dedicated to her work. And, up until a short time ago, rumored to be about to become Mrs. Griffin Ross.

  But no more. Griffin Ross was dating his secretary, although some said it was more for show than for love, at least on his part. And Boone knew that Rachel Brant was combing the Kiamichi Mountains at night like a woman possessed, crying out to a man who wasn’t really there. It made no sense to Boone that she’d taken a leave from her job, and even less that she seemed drawn to him, rather than afraid. While there were questions that remained unanswered, be wanted to believe her trip to South Dakota had been a coincidence. And because he wanted it so badly, he let it be so.

  Two days passed in which Boone rarely went home. Instead, he prowled the streets of Razor Bend in the hope of seeing Rachel again, but it didn’t happen. And while there was nothing going on at Denver Cherry’s but the nightly drink-till-you-drop routine, Boone couldn’t completely absent himself from the group, not when it had taken him so long to be called to the fold.

  Never before had he wanted to call it quits as badly as he did now, and it was because of Rachel. He was beginning to think of this job as his last. Once an undercover cop began to think more of who he was, than of who he was pretending to be, things always went wrong. He wanted out before that started to happen.

  It was midnight when Boone drove up to the trailer and parked. He sat in silence with the engine running and the radio playing, letting himself unwind before going inside to bed. And as he stared at the darkened windows and the rusting trailer, the solitude of his existence overwhelmed him.

  He hit the steering wheel with angry force. “Why am I doing this? We lock them up, the system lets them go.”

  On impulse, he picked up his cell phone. Leaning his head’ against the back of the seat, he closed his eyes, waiting for the link to the outside world that kept his head on straight.

  “This is Waco. Is this you?”

  Boone exhaled in an angry grunt. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “You tell me.”

  Susan Cross hit the mute button on her remote and shoved her bowl of popcorn aside. Something was wrong. “Talk to me, darlin’,” she said softly.

  “I want this over.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “Hell, no. If it had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  Boone sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, massaging the back of his neck as he did.

  “Me either, Captain. I shouldn’t have called.”

  It took Susan a moment to think, and when she did, the first thing that came to mind was the woman.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  His heart sank as the futility of the situation struck him. Dear God, it will always be her. But admitting to his captain that he was losing his edge didn’t come easy.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered.

  A short, succinct epithet rang in his ear.

  He arched an eyebrow, then grinned. “Why, Waco, I didn’t know you knew words like that.”

  “Say the word and I’ll pull you in,” she said.

  Boone sighed. That wasn’t why he’d called, and it damn sure wasn’t what he wanted.

  “Look, Captain, like I said, I’m sorry I called. Let’s just call it a bad-hair day and let it go at that, okay?”

  “I have some news that might cheer you up,” she said.

  Boone stiffened. “I’m listening.”

  “Marked drug money has been circulating in Razor Bend like flies on honey.”

  This was definitely good news. “Have you been able to trace it to the source?”

  “We’re working on it,” she said. “One thing’s for sure, if it showed up there, then our boy is there, too. We’re checking to see if it’s being laundered through a business or major purchases of some kind. Either way, I hope to know something within the week.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” Boone said.

  “No, Boone, thank you,” she said quietly, and hung up.

  Boone disconnected, then, out of habit, entered a series of random numbers and disconnected again.

  It was warm inside his truck. The heater was working at a neat little clip. He glanced up at the trailer, thinking of cold sheets and the lonely bed waiting for him inside.

  “Suck it up,” he reminded himself, and was reaching to turn off the engine when a song on the radio stopped his intent.

  To his regret, it was the same lonely song he’d heard playing once before at Rachel’s place.

  “Desperado.”

  And in that moment, he knew what he was.

  A longing swept over him that he couldn’t control Blind as he was to everything but the words of the song hammering at his heart, the need to see Rachel was too strong to deny. He put the truck in gear and took off down the mountain.

  Rachel couldn’t sleep. Truth be told, she was afraid to close her eyes. She’d paced inside her house until she wore out the floors, as well as her patience. The night was cool, but calm. The Kiamichis beckoned, promising peace if only she would come Rachel walked out her back door, then stretched and inhaled slowly. Like a piper playing a seductive, sweet song, the dark enfolded her. Even as she sat down on the steps, the tension inside her was beginning to unwind.

  Long minutes passed as she sat there, one with the night, listening to an owl hoot from a nearby tree, watching a possum as it waddled to and fro beneath a nearby bush, feeling the moisture on her face as it came down through the air, soon to become dewdrops on the lush mountain grass. Crickets chirped; night birds called. And t
hen, while she wasn’t listening, everything went silent. It was only after the possum suddenly scuttled away that Rachel realized what had happened.

  She stood, alert now to a presence that, at this point, she could only feel. It took several moments for her eyesight to penetrate the darkness beyond the perimeter of the security light outside her house, but when it did, her heart started to pound.

  She could see him now, coming toward her like some dark mountain cat, long and lean, dressed in black, blending with the shadows through which he was moving. There was a purpose in his step that she’d never seen before, an intent that created an ache deep inside of her.

  Oh, God.

  Waiting... waiting... she felt her legs begin to tremble, and she reached out toward the porch post to steady herself.

  He came on without words, his intention obvious in the tilt of his head and the rhythm of his walk. He was closer now. She imagined she could hear his heart thundering in his chest, feel the rush of his blood as it coursed through his veins. Somehow, before it happened, she knew what the weight of his body would feel like as he drove deep inside her. She shuddered, then swallowed a moan. The time was past for sampling. What was between them was ripe; about ready to burst.

  When he reached the bottom of the steps, he looked up, blistering Rachel with a single dark stare.

  “Turn loose of me, woman, or suffer the consequences.”

  His demand was raw, like the need on his face.

  Rachel took a deep breath. “I can’t. I don’t know how.”

  “Then God help us both, because neither do I.”

  Seconds later, she was in his arms.

  Urgently, desperately, Boone’s mouth swept her face, then her lips, then down the curve of her neck, drinking in the essence of the woman called Rachel.

  When she moaned against his mouth, he lost the last of his control. He pulled her off her feet and into his arms, shoving aside a screen door, then kicking the wooden one shut behind them.

  “Turn them off,” he ordered, tilting his head toward the lights.

  Rachel reached for the switch. As it clicked, dark replaced light, and she was aware of the sound of his breath as it flowed against her cheek. How ragged, how deep...