From Here to Texas

Thoughtful, he rubbed a thumb and forefinger across his dented chin. “The place has been empty for a long time. Years, in fact. Why have you suddenly decided to do something with it?”

Clementine breathed deeply. “Believe me, Neil, my decision isn’t sudden. I’ve had the place on my mind for a long while. But I—” She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t admit to this old friend that she’d been afraid to return to Aztec, afraid of facing Quito and all that had happened between them. “I’ve been busy with one thing and another,” she finished.

He smiled understandingly. “Well, the years have certainly been kind to you, Clementine. You haven’t aged a day. You’re still just as pretty as ever.”

“And it sounds like you’re still the flirt and flatterer that I remember,” she teased.

Neil chuckled and then his expression turned serious. “I thought that you might have come back because of Quito. You must have heard he nearly died.”

The news was such a slam to her stomach she actually pressed her hand against her midsection. Incredulous, she stared at him. “Nearly died? But how? Why?”

“Someone tried to murder him. It happened out on highway 544. Someone drove up beside him and pumped three nine millimeter slugs into the side of his vehicle. Two of the bullets hit Quito and did a lot of damage. He only got released from the hospital about two or three weeks ago.”

So that’s why he’d looked a little pale, she thought. And all the time he’d been standing beside her table, she’d been thinking his ashen color had been a result of seeing her again. Clementine should have known better than to think she’d had that much effect on the man.

Still stunned, she slowly shook her head. “No—I—I hadn’t heard about Quito. In fact, I just saw him over at the Wagon Wheel. He stopped by my table to say hello.” A pained expression crossed her face. “He didn’t say anything about being shot!”

Neil shrugged. “No. Quito wouldn’t say anything. He’s not the sort to go around talking about himself.”

Or to her, she thought, sadly.

“I noticed he was still wearing his badge and gun. So apparently he’s not giving up the job of sheriff,” she said to Neil.

Leaning back in his chair, Neil folded his arms across his chest and thoughtfully eyed her troubled face. “Why, Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.”

Trying to keep any sort of emotion from her face, Clementine reached down and pulled a set of thick papers from the briefcase she’d carried in with her handbag.

“Here’s the abstract and deed for the house and land,” she said stiffly. “Once you have a chance to read it over you can contact me at the Apache Junction.”

Clementine rose to her feet and walked out before the lawyer collected himself enough to make any sort of reply.

Once she was outside and sitting in her car, she finally let her guard down. With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.

What made Neil think she still had feelings for Quito Perez, she wondered bitterly. Eleven years was a long time. Love didn’t last that long. Not for anybody.

Chapter Two

After Clementine drove away from Neil Rankin’s office, she decided at the last moment to turn the car onto the highway and drive out to the Jones house.

She’d only arrived in Aztec last night after a long drive up from Houston. Her mother, Delta, had pronounced her crazy for wanting to drive eleven hundred miles rather than fly to northern New Mexico. But Clementine hadn’t wanted the trip to be short. She’d wanted the extra time to think about the past and ponder her future.

Nothing had turned out as she’d once planned and a tiny part of her hoped and believed that making this trip, and doing away with the house her parents had willed her, would finally put an end to her restless heart.

The car topped out on a small grade and Clementine automatically began to brake as she noticed a patrol car parked on the side of the road. It would be just her luck to get a speeding ticket, she thought dourly. Quito would surely get a laugh out of that.

On closer inspection, she noticed the car was empty and just as she was about to pass, she caught sight of a man’s figure standing out among a stand of twisted juniper trees.

It was Quito!

Without bothering to wonder why, she steered her car onto the shoulder of the highway and parked in front of the patrol car. In a matter of seconds she was out of the car and walking toward him.

He noticed her immediately, but he didn’t bother walking to meet her. Instead he stood his ground and waited for her to come to him.

She was still dressed in the slim white skirt and peach silk blouse she’d been wearing at the Wagon Wheel. The four-inch spiked heels on her feet were sinking into the loamy red soil and he cursed under his breath as she awkwardly covered the rough ground between them.

“What are you doing out here, Clementine?”

She licked her lips and smoothed her skirt. “I saw the car and then I spotted you. I thought something might be wrong.” She hadn’t exactly thought he was having trouble, but it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. Apparently from the dry expression on Quito’s face, he considered it pretty lame, too.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong. And you’re going to kill yourself wearing those heels out here like this.”

A smile tilted the corners of her lips. “Still the ever practical Quito, I see.”

Her blue eyes slid covertly down his six-foot-three-inch body. He was thick with muscle, much more so than he’d been eleven years ago. His thighs had his jeans stretched tight and the expanse across his chest and shoulders seemed to go on forever. He was wearing a white oxford shirt and the color contrasted starkly against his dark skin.

As her eyes returned to his face, she felt another kick in the stomach. Quito wasn’t handsome. His features were far too rough for that. But the chiseled nose and mouth and dark hooded eyes all combined to make the most masculine face she’d ever seen. And one that, for her, had been unforgettable.

“I could think of worse things to be called,” he said.

She smiled again while inside she sighed softly at the thought of stepping forward and laying her cheek against his broad chest. Quito was the strongest, bravest man she’d ever known. No one had ever made her feel as safe as he had.

“This morning—you didn’t ask me why I was here in Aztec,” she said. “How come?”

Her question sounded so much like the young nineteen-year-old woman he’d fallen in love with that he couldn’t stop the corner of his lip from curling upward.

“Because it’s none of my business why you’re here.”

She looked disappointed. Which didn’t make an iota of sense to Quito. The woman had walked out of his life years ago. Granted, she’d said she was doing it all in the name of love. But she’d never come back to his little corner of the world. And for Quito that had pretty much exposed the truth of her feelings.

“Oh,” she said and then a frown marred her pretty face. “Well, why didn’t you tell me you’d been shot?”

So she’d heard about that already, he thought grimly. But hell, what did that matter, he reasoned. He wasn’t trying to be a superhero in her eyes anymore.

“Look, Clementine, I just stopped by your table to say hello. That’s all. What in hell do you expect from me, anyway?”

Her eyes were suddenly stricken with dark shadows and he couldn’t miss the slight quiver of her lips as she murmured huskily, “I don’t know, Quito.”

Damn it, he was going to have to tell the doctor that something inside his chest had ripped open. Some of that sewing they’d done on him must have pulled apart because there was a pain between his lungs like he’d never felt before.

A hot westerly breeze picked up her long hair and she caught the shiny strands with her hand as she turned and walked away from him.

Torn with all sorts of emotions, Quito watched her for a few seconds, then cursed under his breath and hurried to catch up with her.

By the time his hand closed around her upper arm, his breathing was rapid and labored. Clementine stopped her forward motion and turned to study him with concern.

“Quito, are you all right?”

No, he was far from all right, he wanted to tell her. He’d had enough trouble this past month without the only woman he’d ever loved showing up to bring back all sorts of pain and misery.

“One of my lungs collapsed and two of my ribs were shattered from the gunfire. I’m not totally well yet,” he admitted.

“I’m so sorry.”

She looked both sincere and concerned but Quito wasn’t going to be sucker enough to believe her this time.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” he muttered.

She drew in a long, bracing breath as she continued to hold her blond hair away from her face. “Look, Quito, for what it’s worth I didn’t come up here to cause you any sort of problems. My parents willed the house to me and I’ve come up to see about putting it on the market. That’s all.”

He forced the tension in his body to relax and only then did he realize his fingers were still gripping her upper arm. He dropped his hand and said, “I didn’t really think you were here because of me. All of that was a long time ago. No sense in rehashing it.”

Except that loving her still continued to affect his life. All the days and months and years that had spanned between them should have erased her from his mind, he thought helplessly. Yet the time hadn’t done anything to dull the light of joy she brought to his heart.

She gave him a shaky smile. “I’m glad you feel that way, Quito.” She glanced thoughtfully toward her car, then back at him. “I’m on my way to the house. Why don’t you come with me? I haven’t been there in years and I’m almost afraid of what I’ll find.”

His initial instinct was to turn down her invitation. He didn’t need to spend any more time with this woman than necessary. But the hungry, wounded part of him couldn’t resist. For years he’d dreamed about seeing this woman again. Now that she was here, he might as well live the dream a little longer, he thought.

“Sure. I haven’t seen it in a long time, either,” he said. “I’ll follow you in the squad car.”

With a nervous smile, she nodded. “See you there.”

Had she gone crazy? Clementine asked herself as she started the car with shaky fingers and pulled onto the highway. What had possessed her to invite Quito to join her at the house?

Silly woman you know why you invited him. Because you never could resist him and these next few minutes might be the last you ever have with him.

Trying to put that black thought from her mind, Clementine concentrated on her driving and dared not to look in the rearview mirror. Just knowing he was directly behind her was enough to distract her.

Two miles passed before Clementine made a right-hand turn and pulled up to massive iron gates supported by two tall columns made of Colorado rock.

The gates were secured with a combination lock. She rolled the correct numbers and once the lock released she pushed the gates aside.

Before she slid back into her car, she walked back to the driver’s window on Quito’s car. He lowered the glass and looked at her.

“I just wanted to tell you not to bother locking the gates behind you. I’ve decided to leave them open while I’m here.”

“All right,” he replied.

She glanced toward the entrance. Clumps of sage had grown up around the rock columns and the two willows that her father had planted were now huge and drooping a deep shade across the driveway. It all looked so different and beautiful and for a moment hot moisture stung her eyes.

“It’s so grown-up,” she murmured.

“Things have a way of changing with time, Clementine.”

Oh, yes, she understood that better than anyone, she thought wistfully.

After a moment, she said, “Well, guess we’d better go on up.”

The drive up to the Jones house was less than a mile, but it seemed much farther. The road curved and climbed the whole distance and on either side of the rough track old twisted juniper stood like crippled warriors proudly hanging on to what little greenery they had left. The dirt was red and bare and some sort of sage was blooming pink and yellow. It was wild and beautiful scenery and Clementine wondered what it would be like to live here again, to see the fresh blue sky and breathe in the clean, crisp air of the high desert.

Don’t even think about it, Clementine. If you stayed your problems would eventually follow you. And then where would you be? Your staying might even put your old friends in danger.

Shaking that grim notion away, she gripped the wheel and tried to focus on the huge potholes scattered here and there on the deteriorated road. Finally the pathway flattened out to a level spot some several feet below the house. Clementine parked her car to one side so that Quito would have ample room, then climbed out to the ground.

As she waited for him to join her, she stared up at the huge structure where she and her parents had once lived in.

By Houston standards, the place really wasn’t anything to brag about. But in this area it was considered majestic, and had especially been admired eleven years ago when her father, Wilfred Jones, had it built.

The house was hacienda style with stuccoed walls in yellow-beige, a red tiled roof, and a long, ground level porch with arched supports running along the front. At the back of the structure an upstairs housed two more bedrooms to add to those on the ground floor. Off the second floor a large sundeck had been built of treated redwood. It was a spot where Clementine had often donned a bikini and lain in the warm sun.

Walking up behind her, Quito lifted his gaze toward the empty house. “Looks like you’ve been lucky. No vandalism. Which is surprising for as long as this place has been empty.”

“Daddy still has the place equipped with an alarm system. I’m sure that’s helped.”

“Yeah, that and the fact that most young people are too lazy to walk all the way up here from the highway.”

“Let’s go take a look around,” she said and without looking to see if he was following, she started up the twenty-five steps that would eventually take her to the front door.

As she climbed, memories assailed her. Some of them sweet and special, others painful. She tried not to think of any of those times now. It didn’t do a person any good to keep going back to the past, she told herself. But for all these years her thoughts had lingered here with Quito.

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed he was coming at a much slower pace and she suddenly remembered his injuries.

Skipping four steps down to him, she took hold of his arm. “Quito, I’m sorry. This is winding you. Maybe you shouldn’t go the rest of the way.”

He tossed her a dry look. “I’m all right. Hell, after this I should be able to run the 220.”

She sighed. “I wasn’t thinking about your injuries,” she apologized again.

Shaking his head, he urged her on up the steps. “I’m not an invalid, Clementine. Maybe a little slow still, but it’s going to take a damn sight more than a bastard with a nine millimeter to kill me.”

Clementine didn’t know what she would have done if she’d arrived in Aztec to find that Quito had been killed. Dear God, she couldn’t begin to imagine the world without his powerful presence. Even eleven years ago, he’d been one of the driving forces that held this county together. She figured things were still that way. No doubt the people around here adored him and would have grieved at his passing. And she…well, she would have sunk into a black hole.

In spite of his determined words, she continued to hold on to his arm and they took each step slowly together until they reached the porch.

Sliding off her sunglasses, she dug into her shoulder bag until she felt the key ring. Once she’d unlocked the door and swung it open, she glanced around to see Quito standing just behind her. But his gaze wasn’t on her. He was staring down at the valley spread below them.

“Will liked being up here on the mountain,” Quito mused aloud. “How is your father now? And your mother?”

Tender emotion knotted her throat, forcing her to swallow before she could answer. “They’re both doing fine. They live in Houston, not far from my place. Right now they’ve gone to spend the summer in Rome. Daddy didn’t care a whit about going. But Mother loves it there and well, you know, Mother gets what Mother wants.”

His lips twisted to a wry slant. “I never thought of your mother as demanding.”

Clementine laughed softly. “You’re being kind, Quito. We both know she’s demanding and Daddy spoils her rotten. Just like he did—”

“You?”

Her blue gaze clashed with his dark brown eyes and she felt her stomach go weak as if she’d been punched by a fist.

Releasing a heavy breath, she murmured, “Yes, like me.”

Before he could say more, she quickly turned and stepped inside. Dust and stale air assaulted her nose and she sneezed, then sneezed again.

As she punched off the alarm system, Quito said, “Bless you.”

Glancing over her shoulder she saw that he’d followed her inside and the gentle expression on his face surprised her and warmed her spirits at the same time.

“Thank you, Quito,” she said, then with a broad smile, she walked back to him and grabbed his hand.

“Come on,” she said, tugging him along. “Let’s go exploring.”

The foyer was ridiculously large. Once they’d left it, they stepped into the great room. It was long and wide with huge pane windows that looked out over the valley floor. At night, they could see the lights of Bloomfield vying for a place among the stars shining across the desert.

It had once been a festive room where her mother and father had held many parties and get-togethers. Now, except for the furniture covered in dust protectors, the place was ghostly quiet.

“I remember your mother had one of the most beautiful Christmas trees I’d ever seen standing over there in the corner. It reached the ceiling and she had gold ribbons tied on it and little toy soldiers hanging from the branches.”

“Hmm. I remember, too. She gave you a tie with reindeer on it and a pair of green socks. I’m sure you thought she was crazy,” Clementine said with a smile.

Actually he’d been honored that Delta Jones had even thought of putting him on her Christmas list. He was not from their lofty social circle and he was half Navajo and half Hispanic on top of that. Other than his adopted parents, he’d had no family of his own. No deep roots to explain his heritage. Sure, he’d been dating the Joneses’ daughter, but they’d seemed to understand that he was just a pastime for Clementine and not a serious love affair. Her parents had never considered him a threat to sweep her away to his life and they’d been right. When Will had retired and packed up to move back to Houston, Clementine had been right beside her parents, not Quito.

“Your mother was always nice to me,” he told her. “So was your father. I’m glad to hear they’re doing well. Does your father still own Jones Oil and Gas?”

Clementine started toward a hallway that would lead them toward a den, a study and several bedrooms. Quito followed a step behind her and as she looked around at the dusty walls and windows, he looked at her.

Except for her curves being a little rounder and fuller, she still looked the same. She was a tall woman with long shapely legs and arms. Her skin was the sort that tanned deeply and her light hair was a striking contrast against her face. As were her vivid blue eyes. He’d always thought of them as two pools of blue ocean. Calm and serene and beautiful at times, stormy at others.

“Yes,” she answered. “Oscar Ramirez keeps everything pulled together and running smoothly. You might remember him. The corporate lawyer who used to come up here in the summer to do a little fishing?”

“I remember.”

“Well, anyway, Daddy has him, and he takes the burden of the business off his shoulders.”

Quito mentally cursed as he realized he’d been thinking about the pleasures of her body rather than the words coming out of her mouth.

“Uh—sorry, I didn’t catch what you said,” he allowed.

She glanced around at him and frowned. “Oh, I’ll bet you’re getting tired. Let’s go up to the sun deck and rest a while before we start back,” she suggested. “Can you make the climb?”

Damn it, he’d always had the reputation of being as strong as a bull. It irked him to be less than a hundred percent in front of this woman. Still, her show of concern surprised him. It also made him feel special. A word he shouldn’t link with Clementine. He wasn’t special to her. He was simply an old lover.

The two of them climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom on the left. The bed and matching furniture were still in place and Clementine trailed a finger through the thick dust on the dresser top. “It would be nice to see everything clean again,” she said wistfully. “Maybe I’ll do that before I leave.”

Leave. Of course she would be leaving in a short time, he thought. That shouldn’t surprise him. It shouldn’t make him feel like a dead, hollow log, either.

To the left of the bed, a wide, sliding glass door led onto the redwood sun deck. Quito unlatched the locks holding the glass in place, then slid it open.

A warm, fresh breeze met them as they stepped onto the wooden deck and Clementine lifted her face to the wind and shook back her hair.

“Leave the door open, Quito. Fresh air is what the whole house needs.”

He left the door ajar as she requested and followed her to the middle of the large sundeck. On the north side of the house the lofty view looked down upon a large kidney-shaped swimming pool. On the opposite side, you could see all the way to the Navajo reservation. At the moment, the reds and greens and purples of the desert landscape shimmered in the morning sunshine.

Drawn by the view, Clementine walked over to the railing and was about to place her hands on the smooth wood when Quito called out.

“Don’t touch that!”

Frozen by his command, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Why?” she asked with a puzzled frown. “What’s wrong?”

Quito walked over to her and nudged her back from the railing. “The weather could have loosened it. Let me check before you lean your weight on it.”

He tested the sturdiness of the balustrade with a shake of his strong hand. To his satisfaction, it didn’t budge.

“Looks okay,” he told her. “Go ahead and lean all you want.”

She moved up to the wooden rail and placed both hands around the smooth wood. For the umpteenth time since he’d ran into her, he noticed there was no wedding ring on her left hand. On her right hand there was a pear-shaped solitaire diamond the color of champagne and the size of too-many-karats-to-count.

On many women the ring would have looked gaudy, but on Clementine it looked perfect. She’d been born to be adorned and pampered and it showed in the proud carriage of her body.

He walked up beside her and leaned his hip against the deck railing. “So what have you been doing all these years, Clementine?”

She didn’t answer immediately nor did she turn her head to the side to glance at him. Quito got the feeling she didn’t want to share such personal information with him. And he was about to tell her that she didn’t have to tell him anything when she spoke.

“I can tell you that I haven’t been nearly as productive as you, Quito.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve made something of yourself.” She turned slightly to look at him and he saw that her eyes were shadowed with secrets and grief. “You’re a respected sheriff. You’re doing exactly what you want to do.”

“And you’re not?” he asked gently.

She made a tiny sound in her throat that was something between a laugh and a moan. “Uh, I don’t know that I’ve ever really done what I wanted to do.”