by Cheryl Biggs
A security guard suddenly stepped in front of him and shone his flashlight in Shane’s face, momentarily blinding him.
“Oh, sorry,” the man said, recognizing Shane. He flicked off the light, and while Shane blinked and tried to dispel the blobs of color floating before his eyes, the guard disappeared back into the darkness.
At least security was on their toes. Shane cut beneath one of the bleachers, skirted the loading pens, then paused a few feet from the arena fence.
Skip Magruder was putting his cutting horse through his paces.
Shane moved to the fence and, hooking his boot over the lower rail, he leaned both arms on the top one and watched. Magruder was the main reason Shane had begun competing in the rodeo. He was called “the Legend” because he was a legend. No one had ever competed as long as Magruder, or won more buckles or titles.
Magruder looked up finally and saw Shane. With a touch of the reins that would have been nearly invisible to anyone else, he urged his horse toward where Shane stood. “Can’t sleep?” he said, as he drew up beside the fence.
Shane looked up. “I could ask you the same thing. Kind of late to be riding, isn’t it?”
Magruder gave a shrug of his shoulders, then swung a leg out and dismounted.
He was solidly built, but at five foot nine a good two or three inches shorter than Shane, with rugged features, a constant shadow of brown stubble, and whiskey-tone eyes that always seemed to be squinting, and gave the impression they missed nothing. “Figured if I’m going to stand a chance in the arena this week against any of you younger guys,” Skip said, “I need all the practice I could get.”
Shane scoffed. “You could probably beat us all with one hand tied behind your back and a blindfold on.”
Skip shook his head. “Well, I guess we’ll see. My wife says I’m getting too old for this, but I keep telling her I’m just getting better.” He laughed.
Cody wasn’t in the trailer when Shane entered a short while later, but he didn’t give it much thought. His brother loved women, and they loved him. He probably had more homes away from their little trailer home than a tomcat.
Shane threw his clothes on a chair and fairly collapsed onto his bed. His body was past tired, but his mind just wouldn’t shut off. Memories of Kate kept invading his thoughts, and an image of her face seemed ready to be his permanent companion. A long sigh slipped from his lips. The sense of loss that had settled within him at the sight of that man on her patio felt deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. He’d believed he had left all hope of anything ever happening between them again behind him a long time ago, but this trip to Reno had done nothing if not show him how wrong he’d been, how much he hadn’t known about himself.
Or maybe it was what he hadn’t wanted to know about himself.
Shane punched a fist into the pillow a few times, rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. If there was anything else about himself he wasn’t aware of, he felt certain now that’s the way he wanted to keep it. Hidden.
He tried to turn his mind to other things. If he was going to expand the operations on the ranch he’d bought in Colorado, and retire there next year as he’d planned, he needed to rack up a few more wins, get the championship again, and sign a couple more lucrative endorsements. Then his future would be set.
A future without Kate, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered.
He ordered it to shut up, and concentrated on falling asleep.
It seemed like sleep had just dragged him into its soft cocoon of darkness when someone began knocking on the trailer’s metal door.
Shane jerked on the blanket he’d dragged over himself sometime during the night and pulled it over his head, but it didn’t drown out the sound.
He grabbed a pillow and fairly smothered himself beneath it.
“Shane,” Dee called. “Shane? I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
“Damn females,” he mumbled. He rolled onto his back and, as sunlight filtered through the nearby window and hit him square in the eye, he cursed again, adjusted his position, and stared up at the bottom of Cody’s bunk, waiting for him to either start swearing like the Devil’s assistant, or fall out of bed to answer the door. After another moment, and another round of Dee’s knocking and calling to him, Shane remembered that Cody hadn’t been there when he came in. He tumbled out of bed and staggered to the door, throwing its latch. “What?” he growled at the same time.
Dee yanked the door open instantly. “Hey, what the heck took you so long?” she said, smiling and bounding into the trailer.
Shane glowered at her. She always had been a morning person.
She stopped and, mocking a cringe, looked him up and down. “Wow, you look terrible.”
He wiped a hand over his face, and turned back toward his bed. “Thank you, Mary Sunshine,” he grumbled, using his pet name for her.
She grabbed his arm before he took more than two steps. “Uh-uh, you promised to help me practice my form this morning, remember?”
“Oh, come on,” he grumbled. “It can’t be morning already. I just got to sleep.”
“Really?’ Dee’s eyes narrowed. ”It’s nearly noon, Shane. Where were you?”
He groaned and grabbed his jeans. He wasn’t going to explain himself to her, and he knew better than to try to argue his way out of anything with Dee. It would just prolong his agony, and he had no doubt he’d just end up doing whatever she wanted anyway.
“Where’s Cody?” she asked, looking toward the empty top bunk.
Shane shrugged into his shirt. “Off with his latest lady love, I would imagine.”
“Oh,” Dee said, her tone knowing, one dark eyebrow shooting upward. “Didn’t come home last night, huh?”
Shane tugged on his boots, ran a hand through his hair, and settled his Stetson on his head. He glared at her. “I need some coffee.”
“You need a shower and a shave,” she corrected, looking at the dark stubble that covered the lower half of his face, “at the very least, but you can do all that later.” She turned toward the door. “Come on. I’ve already got Tattles saddled and down at the arena.”
“Terrific,” Shane mumbled. He stopped at the Snack Shack and poured two cups of strong, black coffee, both for himself, then took a seat in the bleachers as Dee mounted her horse and began their workout. “Keep his head up,” Shane called to her a few minutes later.
Dee’s long dark hair flew about her back as she rode. The image reminded him of the other day, when he’d been at Kate’s, watching her ride. The memory did nothing to improve his mood. He forced his attention back to Dee, watched her circle a barrel with ease, then hunker down in her saddle as Tattles raced toward the next barrel. Her hair caught the sun and, just for a second, shone red. Something hot twisted inside Shane.
“How am I doing?” Dee said, reining in before him.
Shane looked up, chagrined and angry that his mind had been elsewhere. He shook off the other thoughts, swearing silently. “Pretty good,” he said, trying to sound more pleasant than he felt. “Want me to time you?”
Halfway through her run, Shane glanced toward the pens and saw Tim and Kate walking past. Remembering the night before, the man on her patio with the light hair, Shane’s fingers tightened around the stopwatch he was holding and a burning knot of jealousy swelled within his chest. He pushed to his feet and called to Dee. “I’ve got to go,” he said as she rode up. “You’re doing fine.”
She looked up, surprised, with a flicker of concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Shane turned on his heel without answering, and jumped down from the bleachers. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he had to get away from the arena, from Dee, from Tim, but mostly from Kate.
“Hey, Shane,” Tim called as Shane walked toward the parking lot.
He stopped, cursing softly, and turned.
“Kate and I were just talking about the fire that was set near your stalls. She heard the police couldn’t get
any fingerprints off anything.”
Shane looked at Kate.
“I—called a friend,” she said hastily, using the same story she’d given Tim.
“Very convenient,” Shane snapped, desire and anger warring within him. His eyes bored into hers.
She saw the bitterness that shone there, and felt ashamed of having lied to him, of having let him kiss her, hold her, and think...
“We were just about to grab some grub,” Tim said. “Want to join us?”
“No, thanks,” Shane said. Turning his back on them, he walked toward his truck.
Cody stepped from a red Chevy and yelled at Shane as he started to pull from the parking lot, but Shane ignored him. He wasn’t in the mood for any of his brother’s banter, or to hear the ribald details about which buckle bunny he’d spent the night with.
Shane roared away from the fairgrounds. It was the middle of a weekday afternoon, and the freeway was nearly deserted. He turned the radio on, its volume up, and purposely didn’t think about where he was going. He could end up in Fairbanks, Alaska, or Stone Mountain, Georgia, for all he cared.
Instead, he automatically took a familiar exit, made a left turn at the light, and sped along the winding, two-lane road without thinking. In no time the road began to climb into the mountains. Sagebrush gave way to scrub pines, and the road became a series of snaking, sharp curves.
Shane shifted into a lower gear. Minutes later he roared down the long stretch of high mountain valley road that was almost completely straight, and passed the entry to Kate’s ranch. He kept on going without even glancing at it. The road began to wind again, and after a few more hairpin turns, finally began to slope down the back side of the barren mountain range.
Virginia City came into view as he rounded a curve that cut sharply into the side of a steep hill. Shane drove down the main street. If not for the cars and tourists, he might have thought he’d just traveled back through time. Some of the old buildings looked ready to collapse. But then, they’d looked like that for years.
Tourists were everywhere, meandering along the old plank sidewalks, crossing the streets, sitting on the wooden benches that edged some parts of the sidewalks. He pulled into the parking lot next to the Bucket of Blood Saloon, tossed the attendant his keys, walked past the old horsedrawn hearse that sat beside the saloon, and went inside.
Kate’s great-great-great-grandfather had been a piano tuner in the historic mining town during its heyday, before he’d taken up ranching, so Kate knew its history forward and backward. She’d brought Shane up to visit it when they’d first started seeing each other, and after that they’d returned numerous times. He felt comfortable with the ageold surroundings. Sliding onto one of the ancient bar stools he high-signed the bartender for a beer, then swung around and, resting his elbows on the bar behind him, watched the people on the street pass by.
“Haven’t seen you around for quite a while,” the bartender said, setting Shane’s beer down on the bar.
Shane turned. “Haven’t been up this way much lately,” he replied. “Doesn’t look like anything has changed though,”
The bartender smiled. “We try not to let it.” He waited on someone else, then returned. “Up against Magruder this year, huh?”
Shane nodded. “Yeah, lucky me.”
They both laughed.
“You used to come up here with a lady. Pretty looking little thing.” The bartender nodded, then looked as if he was trying to recall something specific. “Yeah, wait a minute, I remember now. She was up here last year for the camel races. Our sheriff heard a rumor some motorcycle group was coming in for the festivities, got nervous about it, and borrowed a couple of officers from Reno for added security.” He laughed softly. “But you coulda bowled me over to see that lady of yours all decked out in a cop’s uniform when she stopped in here to say hi.”
Shane’s attention was instantly snagged. “When are the camel races?”
“September.”
A large group of customers pushed up to the bar and the man turned away.
Shane took several sips of his beer before deciding he really didn’t want it. Nine months. So she hadn’t been off the force that long. What had happened, he wondered, to make Kate quit the police department, to leave the job she’d sworn she would never leave?
I can’t give up being a cop, Shane. Not for you or anybody else. I won’t. Ever.
But maybe she’d changed her mind for the new man in her life.
Thoughts of Tim Norris rushed in on him again. Shane pushed angrily from his stool, disgusted with himself for the thoughts, the suspicions, whirling through his mind. If Tim was involved with Kate, Shane would know. Tim had been his best friend for six years. They were almost as close as brothers, as close as him and Cody. There was no way Shane wouldn’t know if Tim was involved with Kate.
Anyway, he knew damned well that Tim was still hopelessly in love with Molly Sumner, for all the good that seemed to be doing him.
He walked back to his truck, and started to pull out of the parking lot. But then he stopped, thinking hard. He took a look in both directions: right for Reno, left for Carson City. Back to the arena, or home to Colorado? He turned right, wishing he could turn left, but he wasn’t a coward. He’d finish up his rides, make his points, and then he’d leave. And if he knew what was good for him, it would be the last time he ever went to Reno, Nevada. Shane slowed the truck for a sharp curve in the road. By the time he made it to the trailer, he’d have just enough time to take a shower and clean himself up, grab a bite to eat at the Snack Shack, and brush Samson down before he was scheduled to ride.
And the sooner this rodeo was over, the quicker he could leave, and the better he’d feel.
Chapter 8
Kate heard the announcement for the start of the evening’s events, but she wasn’t due up right away and she’d accidentally left her show hat in Dancer’s stall.
She stopped abruptly at the corner of the stables as she spotted the figure of a man stepping out of a stall that she’d swear was either hers or Shane’s.
But it wasn’t Shane. Instinct told her that, instantly, along with the fact that he didn’t seem quite as tall as Shane, nor his shoulders quite as broad.
The sun had already begun sinking from the sky, its dying rays glinting off the metal building and nearby horse trailers to play against her vision. She thought of the gun holstered to her ankle and squinted, trying to see past the glare and shadows. All she could make out as the man darted toward the opposite end of the building was that he was medium height, slight in build rather than muscular, and his hair appeared light-colored, maybe blond.
She knew it could be almost anyone, but she had the distinct feeling that whoever it was, he was young, and he didn’t want to be seen.
The minute he ran around the corner of the building, Kate darted from her hiding place and ran after him, but by the time she got to the opposite end of the stable, there was no one in sight.
“Damn.” Frustration overwhelmed her and she slapped a hand against the aluminum building, sending a tinny thudding sound through the air. If she’d just managed to get a good look at him, this whole sabotage mess could have been over.
She turned and walked back to Dancer’s stall. Her horse was already up at the arena, ready and waiting for their ride.
She stepped past Dancer’s stall and looked into Shane’s. Samson was gone, and the stall dark.
Kate turned back and opened the gate to her own. The heel of her boot slid out from beneath her as she stepped inside. She arched backward and grabbed for the doorjamb, scraping the skin from the side of her hand and scrambling frantically, trying to stay on her feet. Finally getting a foothold, and still clinging to the doorjamb, she sucked in a deep breath, cursed, and turned on the light. Kate’s eyes widened. “I’m going to kill someone,” she snapped. Someone had poured water all over the pine shavings that covered the floor, then thrown grain on top of that.
It was a gooey and somewhat da
ngerous mess, and there was no way she could put her horse back in the stall until it was cleaned up. A horse could die from eating that mixture, and she’d almost broken her neck unwittingly trying to walk on it.
Kate grabbed a flashlight from her footlocker and walked back to Shane’s stall. Shining the light inside, she confirmed that his stall was the same. As were the next three she checked.
She grabbed her hat and stalked back toward the arena, hoping she could find Jim Hodges and have him send someone down to clean up their saboteur’s latest attack before too many people found out about it.
The first thing Shane noticed as he approached his trailer was that it had a flat tire. He swore under his breath and knelt down beside it. The tires were nearly new, there was no visible sign of a nail or chunk of glass anywhere, and even if there had been he knew the thing would have gone flat a lot sooner than this.
He stepped inside, compensating for the tilt the flat tire created, and immediately paused. It looked like a cyclone had hit the interior, but Shane knew this particular cyclone wasn’t a freak of nature or a vandal, its name was Cody. Stepping over the clothes his brother had left scattered all over the floor, Shane pulled his own from the narrow closet next to the bunks.
Twenty minutes later he’d shaved and showered, thankful the tilt of the trailer wasn’t in the opposite direction, or the water would have poured out onto the floor. By the time he was ready to leave he felt halfway human again—physically. His mood was no better. In fact, it was worse, and it didn’t improve with the passing of time.
The bull he drew to ride was a spinner, and Shane’s ride only garnered him seventy-two points. The bronc he rode seemed somewhat lackadaisical, and even Samson seemed out of spirits. The calf-roping event was scheduled toward the end of the evening. Shane’s ride was second up. When they charged into the arena after the bolting calf, Shane threw his rope. It settled over the animal’s head, and as Samson dug into the dirt to stop, Shane jumped off him and ran toward the calf to tie its legs.
