Then she took a deep breath, bringing up the subject that no one wanted to face. They were all wondering why no one had seen Liz Stone or her new assistant. “We haven’t see Liz for almost a week, Jesse. What do you think? Is that woman in the boots some kind of clue?”
“Could be.” The lanky deputy stared at his coffee. “You sure she wanted Navajo Ridge?”
“No mistake about it. Darned attractive, too,” Charly muttered. “Nice eyes and a thoughtful way about her. She probably got those boots in New York or maybe on Rodeo Drive.” Charly shot a glance at Rosa, whom he’d been trying to sweet-talk for the past few years. “Not that I noticed.”
“And I’m the pope’s daughter,” the stunning white-haired woman muttered. “But what about Liz?” She glanced anxiously at Jesse, who was finishing his last bite of pie.
Jesse realized they were seriously worried, though Liz Stone was a strong woman who hated cities and liked living alone on her land up on the mesa. She could take care of herself, she always said.
He had no reason to suspect anything had happened to her. She often spread out her visits to town. But if these people were worried, he couldn’t brush off their concern lightly.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll drive up there and have a look tomorrow. How about that?”
“I think you should,” Rosa said quickly.
“So do I.” Charly stared from one person in the room to the next, giving voice to what all of them were thinking in their worries about the wealthy landowner. “I mean, where is she and why isn’t she answering her phone? Why is her car still parked in her drive up there on Navajo Ridge Road?”
“You think something has happened to her, Jesse? Remember there was a string of burglaries over in Cottonwood last month.”
Jesse stood up, frowning. He’d helped catch the burglars in question, though he didn’t mention that. There were more recent criminal activities than Rosa knew about, too. “I’ll check it out. You have my word.” The deputy started to put bills on the counter, but the owner shoved them firmly back toward him.
The way he’d done for the past eight years.
Jesse sighed. They were a tough bunch here. Stubborn, self-reliant and nosy, the lot of them.
He couldn’t think of a better set of friends.
“Meanwhile, if that woman comes back at least get her name and her license plate.” Jesse knew that Liz Stone’s son lived in Denver. He would call him tomorrow to see if he had any news about his mother.
He crossed the parking lot in the darkness, favoring his right leg. The three-inch scar above his knee was bothering him again, a bitter memento of his last tour of duty. Sometimes the pain snuck up on him, jolting him back into memories of swirling dust and sniper fire. He’d lost two good friends during that last tour.
He’d lost his sister about then, too.
Jesse made an angry sound. His hand opened, massaging the knot of muscles above his knee. Pain filled him, as bitter as it had been the day he’d received the official notice of Katie’s death.
He stood outside his police cruiser, the throb in his leg blurring into memories of his sister laughing at him as she hung upside down from a cottonwood tree with the summer wind ruffling her hair.
She’d never climb a tree or laugh again, Jesse thought grimly.
And he was partly to blame, because he hadn’t persuaded her not to go.
He slid into the seat, wincing as he tucked his long legs inside and closed the door. You couldn’t go back. Things didn’t always work out, not like in the movies. Sometimes all you could hope to do was stay one step ahead of your demons.
So far his demanding job in the second largest county in the U.S. hadn’t left him much time to brood, and he was glad of that. Free time was dangerous time when memories were bad. Just the same, he couldn’t remember when he’d last been out on a date or taken a woman dancing, with her warm skin touching his.
Jesse frowned. What had Charly said?
Nice eyes and a thoughtful way about her. But did she have something to do with Liz Stone and her assistant?
As he drove out into the darkness, Jesse couldn’t seem to get a pair of red cowboy boots out of his mind. A possible clue, he reminded himself, to a troubling disappearance.
SOMETHING WAS HOWLING outside her window.
Sara sat up in a rush. The howling was actually an owl, calling to its mate. She ran a hand through her hair and grimaced down at her rumpled clothes. She had fallen asleep fully dressed.
She made a cup of coffee, then prowled through Hannah’s cabin for a closer look. She found more unopened mail and an answering machine with twenty-two phone messages. Everything was neat, neater than she remembered Hannah usually being. There was absolutely no sign that her sister had been planning a long trip. It didn’t make sense.
Sara found dry lettuce, some leftovers and a full quart of milk in the refrigerator. More signs that Hannah had meant to stay home.
After her search, all the old worry returned. She remembered seeing a small detached garage on the side of the driveway and she decided to take a closer look. When she opened the front door, pink light was just touching the trees to the east.
The view left Sara speechless.
Coral cliffs twisted into tight spirals, climbing to a purple sky now streaked with the fuchsia edge of dawn. More cliffs marched away to the north, and a shadowy mesa cut a straight path about half a mile to the east. Her sister had called this area picturesque. Sara called it nearly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
She ran back inside for her camera to capture the blazing colors. Outside, as she lifted her Nikon, a hawk cut through the sunlight.
It was a powerful shot. It might even be an award-winning shot, she thought, working feverishly at her settings. When the hawk circled over her head, she moved back, trying to catch the flare of the powerful wings in her viewfinder. She barely noticed the rustling behind her, intent on catching the bird in flight.
The rustling grew louder. Sara knew the sound meant something, but she didn’t know what. As the hawk sailed over her head, she clicked half a dozen shots.
Suddenly she heard the soft crunch of gravel.
“Nice camera,” a husky male voice said. “Why don’t you turn around slowly and let me have a look at it? Just don’t make any sudden movements.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sara gripped her camera against her chest.
How had the man managed to sneak up on her like that? And what was he doing up here near Hannah’s cabin?
She started to spin around, but the low, cool voice cut her off. “No swift movements, ma’am. Take one slow step to your left while you tell me about that lens you’re using. It looks like a 70 to 200 millimeter.”
“It’s a Zeiss 2/28 actually, but why?” Sara looked over her shoulder and saw a tall man with cool eyes measuring her. He was wearing a uniform, but she couldn’t read the insignia.
“That’s good. Now, one more step to the left. Take it slow.”
He was watching something near her right boot. Something was hidden in the bushes, and he was trying to protect her from whatever it was.
Sara’s heart began to pound. “What are you looking at?” she whispered.
“Nothing important, ma’am. Take another slow step. You’re going to be fine.”
She gripped her camera, did just as he asked. Her palms felt sweaty against the rim of her Nikon, and she had to force herself not to run.
“This is a good sunrise,” he said quietly. “But there will be better ones. Some of them will pull the breath right out of your throat.”
“This one just did.”
Sara took another slow step to her left, and he circled around to her side. In one smooth movement he shoved her behind a rock and stared at the spot where she had been standing.
The rustling in the grass became a hollow rattle.
He moved closer, standing between her and the danger as a big, dusty gray shape rose, tongue outstretched,
from the bushes near where Sara had stood only moments before. The sheriff stayed right where he was, immobile, his hands loose at his side. “Rattler. Looks like a diamondback,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you go on inside while I move this big fellow down to the far side of the cliff, so he won’t do anyone any harm.”
“Fine with me,” Sara muttered. She was already backing up the path to the cabin.
Her hands were clammy. A rattlesnake had been barely a foot away from her. It could have struck at any moment.
Sara shut the cabin door and ran trembling hands over her face. If she’d been bitten out here with no one to help her, she would have died. Just like that.
And that meant the man in the uniform had saved her life. He’d been smart to talk to her the way he had. Anything else would have sent her running, and that would have provoked the snake to attack.
Smart.
His voice still played through her mind—low and smoky, absolutely calm. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. All she knew for sure was that he had an intense way about him, looking at you as if everything else had dropped away and you were the only important thing in the world.
The memory made Sara flush. She ran a hand through her tangled hair as she heard footsteps crunch outside. Quickly she pulled off her torn gray sweatshirt and exchanged it for a tidy cardigan. She took a deep breath, composing herself as she heard a knock.
She swung the front door open.
And went completely still.
He was taller than she’d expected—maybe six-five. His eyes reminded her of a mountain pool she’d seen once up near the Canadian border, deep and smoky blue in spring right after the ice began to melt. But his cheeks were gaunt, as if he had been sick. With the keen eye of a photographer, Sara noticed that he favored his right leg.
An accident? Some kind of service wound?
None of your business, Winslow.
She held out a hand. “I’m Sara Winslow. My sister, Hannah, lives here. I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t have a clue that snake was there.”
He stood in the doorway, looking thoughtful. “Jesse McCloud. Snakes have a way of doing that. Up here you have to watch every step. Never put a hand or foot in a crevice or blind spot. Look first. Keep your distance and they’re fine. They were here first, after all.”
Sara continued to stare at him, taking in the sharp angles of his face and the line of shadows cast by the sun rising over the trees. He had the look of someone comfortable with himself and the world. With bones like that, he would probably always look thirty years younger than his real age.
Wasn’t it just unfair to waste a gift like that on a man who would never care how old he looked?
“What’s unfair?”
Sara frowned and realized he was still standing in the doorway, staring at her. “I guess I’m a little shaken up. Come in, Mr.—McCloud. Or maybe I should say Sheriff McCloud.” She had finally deciphered the words on his uniform patch.
“Deputy Sheriff. Most people here just call me Jesse.” He moved inside with a spare grace that made Sara wonder if he had been an athlete at one time.
And there it was again, her curiosity getting her into trouble. Who he had been or who he was now was none of her business.
But maybe he could tell her the whereabouts of her sister. “How about some coffee? Then you can tell me why you came up here.”
“Coffee sounds good.” He moved around the living room, the casual sweep of his gaze missing nothing. When he followed her into the small kitchen, Sara felt oddly self-conscious.
“I like French press. But maybe you like something stronger, with a little more spice.” She opened a ceramic canister of sugar and fumbled with the electric coffeemaker. When he didn’t answer, she shot him a glance.
He was staring at her. Just staring. Looking surprised, as if he was trying to work out something that was important. Sara had a sudden urge to touch the tiny notch in the corner of his cheek and see if it made him smile. Something told her this man smiled far too little.
She forced down the temptation to move closer, calling herself twenty kinds of names. Men in uniform ought to be outlawed, she thought irritably. They had an unfair way of digging under all your well-intentioned defenses.
Sara shoved the coffeepot back into place and frowned at him. “Is something wrong? Do I have dirt on my face?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing wrong. It’s your mouth.” He rubbed his neck. “What I mean is, it’s about the nicest mouth I’ve seen in my life.”
Sara stared back at him. He wasn’t smiling, and he looked absolutely serious. Something told her Jesse McCloud was serious about most things in his life. “Oh.” What were you supposed to say to a thing like that? “Do you like it sweet?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ah—your coffee. Sugar, raw sugar, agave or honey? My sister is a health food nut, so you’ve got your choice.”
“No sugar. I take it straight.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Sara murmured. As she reached around him for a saucer to go with the brightly painted cup, their bodies seemed way too close in the small kitchen.
For some reason she couldn’t explain, her hand wavered. Maybe it was the smell of his skin, full of the outdoors with just a hint of leather and citrus. Bottle that smell and you could walk away a millionaire, she thought wildly.
Annoyed by the way he was affecting her, Sara moved around him. Jesse moved at the same time. Their legs bumped together, and the empty cup tumbled from her fingers.
He caught it in midair. “Let me do that.” Reaching behind her, he took down a second mug and filled them both from the steaming pot. He glanced at her with the hint of a smile. “I take you for no sugar and just a splash of milk. Am I right?”
It galled her, but he’d nailed her perfectly. “Nice guess.”
“I wouldn’t call it a guess. Doing what I do, meeting all kinds of people in all kinds of circumstances, you get to know something about them. Call it instinct or luck or experience. Somehow I almost feel as if I know you.” There was a husky edge in his voice that made Sara’s toes curl.
She ignored it ruthlessly. “So, Deputy McCloud, what brings you all the way up to Navajo Ridge at dawn? And don’t tell me it’s for the coffee, because my coffee isn’t very good.”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking comfortable yet completely alert. Sara decided that the mix of calm blended with alertness suited him.
“The folks down at the café told me you came in last night asking for directions. Can I speak with your sister?”
“She’s—not here now.”
“I thought I’d better see if everything was okay up here. This area is pretty isolated, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed. Last night I didn’t hear a single car horn, and the only bright light came from a shooting star. It couldn’t be more different from where I live.”
He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “And where would that be, Sara?”
“Chicago. Not the nice part, either. But there’s a vitality to the bustle and noise, and somehow they grow on you.” She swirled her coffee, frowning. “Last week I was walking along Lake Michigan and I took a shot of a dog—”
Sara stopped. Why was she telling him these things? What in the world made the man so easy to talk to?
She blew out a little breath. “How about more coffee?”
“I’m good. You took a shot of a dog,” he prompted. “You’re a photographer?”
Sara nodded, but she wasn’t giving him anything more. She didn’t know a thing about the man. On the other hand, a deputy sheriff had resources that she didn’t.
She rubbed her neck, torn between reticence and the need to ask for help. Not yet, she decided. Not until she was certain that Hannah hadn’t simply taken a road trip on the spur of the moment in her usual unpredictable way.
“I’ve done a few things,” she went on coolly. “What abou
t you, Deputy McCloud? What do you do when you’re not riding around in that cruiser, working hard to serve and protect?”
Later Sara would wonder if she had imagined his little reflex and the way his hand had opened over the side of his leg. The long fingers had massaged lightly, as if he was caught by old memories. “We’re a big, sprawling county, Sara. I don’t have a lot of free time.”
“But when you do?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“So I’m told.”
He set his empty cup on the counter, shaking his head when she offered a refill. “Well, let’s see. Before I shipped out, I used to like rock climbing and—don’t laugh—I considered myself a bit of an amateur archaeologist. There are quite a few ruins around here. Climbing is the best way to see them.”
But Sara latched on the one point he had glossed over. “Shipped out? You were in the military?”
He nodded. “Seems like a long time ago.”
“Where? Afghanistan or Iraq?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing worse than old news.” Clearly he didn’t choose to talk about it.
But Sara couldn’t let it go. “You favor your right leg. And you massage your knee occasionally. Were you wounded over there?”
His face changed, his expression turning distant. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hurt, Deputy McCloud. A four-letter word that means suffering injury or harm. I assume you’re in pain, probably from a mortar round, small arms fire or a land mine.”
He just looked at her. There was an intensity to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. Now the kitchen fairly shimmered with an awareness between them so sharp that Sara felt the little hairs stand up along her neck.
Something was happening here. For the life of her she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
“You saw all that in a matter of fifteen minutes?” There was a hard edge of disbelief in his voice.
“I’m a photographer. I see things. I watch what other people don’t watch. I’d be no good at my work if I didn’t.”
More Than Words, Volume 6 Page 17
