Wild Horse Springs

“You’re right.” Thatcher wouldn’t have been surprised if the monster lifted one of its legs and began to walk. “You think it’ll look any better when they get it finished? Folks say there will be grass and benches and maybe even statues.”

Tim nodded as if finding a topic to discuss. “Sheriff said the construction companies brought in crews to build it and the new baseball field with under-the-stands locker rooms at the high school. Everyone claims the construction crews have caused more trouble than they’re worth. Most of the workers moved into trailers behind the gas station, and word is there’s a party out there every night. We got a crime scene waiting to happen out there. The foreman from across the street complained to the sheriff that his crew either shows up drunk or high.”

Thatcher almost said he knew that for a fact, but telling Tim anything would be telling him too much. He simply wanted to forget what he saw yesterday when he looked in that trailer window; what was going on in there had nothing to do with the trouble he was in now. He shouldn’t have hit Luther.

Thatcher tried to reason it out, but he swore his fist was flying before his brain had time to think about the consequences.

His momma always told him to stay out of other folks’ crimes unless you want to be a part of the next one they commit. She was right. Of course, she also told him she could see him from wherever he was because they shared the same color eyes.

“Mom, if you’re watching now, you might want to look away,” he mumbled to himself. Tim was too busy talking to notice.

Lauren finally came back and Tim abandoned talking to Thatcher, so he moved over to his bunk and tried to sleep, but questions kept running through his brain. Why’d he get involved yesterday? Why didn’t he just mind his own business? If he hadn’t tried to help the little girl. If he hadn’t followed the kid home. If he hadn’t taken the food back, he’d be out at the Lone Heart Ranch eating supper with Charley and his wife and Lillie. He’d be teasing her, calling her Flower and she’d be talking back calling him “That.”

Thatcher smiled. Life hadn’t given him many breaks, but meeting Charley’s family made up for that. Lillie was nine now and thought she knew everything. Only once she’d been small like the kid he’d tried to help yesterday. That thin little girl was vulnerable. She didn’t have parents who cared if she ate, and that was the least of their crimes.

CHAPTER SIX

Tuesday night

DAN BRIGMAN CALLED himself every kind of fool as he walked into the Nowhere Club. He’d asked a woman for a date and then stood her up. He hadn’t even called last night. She’d been everything he needed right now. Someone fun, easy to get to know, great to kiss. A wild, beautiful lady he could spend some time with and not worry about getting involved. No strings. No complications. She’d made that plain from the first.

She was the dream he’d always wanted and never had.

And, thanks to Thatcher Jones, Dan had blown his one chance. She probably wouldn’t bother to speak to him tonight, and all he had was a memory of one great kiss. Maybe the best kiss he’d ever experienced, or ever would.

There was the possibility she hadn’t thought it was a date. She’d just said that if he could find a place open, she’d be hungry. Maybe showing up a day late wouldn’t matter. Brandi Malone didn’t strike him as a woman who made long-term plans.

By the time he’d left the sheriff’s office after one final check of Thatcher and his two babysitters and gone home to clean up, it was almost eight o’clock. If he was lucky, he’d hear her second set, even if she didn’t talk to him afterward.

Any plans of taking the lady back to his place had vanished when his daughter showed up this afternoon. The singer he met might be beautiful and wild, but they were both too old for him to even suggest making out in a car. His old Jeep didn’t have much of a heater, and he was not taking her out to dinner in the county cruiser.

At least he’d switched into civilian clothes and left his gun belt at home. Of course he did have a small revolver strapped to his calf and his badge was tucked into his coat pocket. A lawman was a lawman; it was not just his job.

He almost turned around halfway to the county line. The weather was getting worse. If he stayed a few hours at the bar, he’d probably be fighting snow going home.

“No,” he said aloud as he pushed on the accelerator. He was going. It was about time he made a memory. At the rate he was going, he’d head into old age without having that “once in a lifetime” affair.

Twenty minutes later, Dan climbed out of the Jeep and turned his collar up against the freezing mist. He might as well go in and make a fool of himself. At least he’d have something to regret.

“Evening, Sheriff,” the bartender said with a nod as he shouted loud enough for half the drunks to hear. “You coming in undercover tonight?”

“No.” Dan smiled as if the question didn’t bother him. Dan never went undercover, even though the club was officially in the next county. “I’m just here to have a beer and listen to the music.” He glanced at the bartender’s nametag. “You got any objections, Sorrel?”

“Nope.” Sorrel Douglas shrugged his bony shoulders. “Would suggest you don’t order food. Kitchen’s backed up. We’re getting a lot more folks in here on weeknights since Brandi came. Drunks around here act like they’ve never seen a real country singer, so they come in early and eat during the first set, then hang around way too late for a weeknight to catch the last set. It’ll be closing time before you get anything but nachos.”

Dan ordered a drink and found a table in the back just as Brandi Malone stepped onstage. The crowd settled. Even the drunk who’d been drooling on the next table raised his head and grinned.

The sheriff swore the air in the place settled as conversations stopped and people who had been playing pool in the back moved where they could see a woman in knee-high blue boots take the stage. Her skin looked pale in the lights, and her dark curls floated around her like a cape.

Dan held his breath. Even if she never spoke to him again, it was already worth the drive to just see her.

As he always did, Dan measured the crowd for trouble. Mostly couples, a few small groups of girls-night-out types. A dozen men standing at the bar. Cowboys, oil-field workers, truckers and a few bikers. No one in the place appeared to be looking for trouble, but a few were starting to drool in their beer as they stared at Brandi. She wore a long silk shirt over leggings, and the boots he’d seen before. Her hair wasn’t tied back as it had been yesterday. When she looked down at her hands, she curtained most of her face from view, and he wondered if she did it on purpose.

Dan wasn’t sure what he expected, but when she began a song, he was lost in her world. He wasn’t even sure she could see him in the crowd, but he swore she was singing just for him. Some of the songs were old favorites that anyone who loved country music liked to hear, but others were new, fresh, almost like she was making up the words as she sang.

For once he didn’t watch his surroundings. All he did was listen. Her music drifted around him like a gentle hug, and her words spoke straight to his sleeping heart. The crowd grew quiet as if they all knew just how good the lady was.

Dan caught himself holding his breath, waiting for her to look up, but she rarely did. For her it was all about the music, and he realized something no one else seemed to see—she was playing for herself, not the audience.

Finally, the spell was broken when she finished the last song and lowered her guitar. A roar went up from the crowd and Dan stood with everyone else.

She took one quick bow and vanished behind the curtain that covered the backstage door. Hank, the owner of the bar, was there as guard, making sure the men who moved toward the stage didn’t make it past the door.

Dan remained in the dark corner without taking one step toward her. Part of him was mourning the wild, crazy woman he’d thought about spending a few nights with. She was so much more. Not just attractive—there was something deep inside her that poured out in her music. She was one of those rare people who were truly gifted.

The lady was obviously hurting so deep down she might never heal. There was a richness to her that had nothing to do with money or diamonds.

“Sheriff?” A voice jerked him back to reality.

He frowned and turned. “What do you want, Sorrel?” The bartender’s name matched the color of the few strands of hair left on his head. He reminded Dan of an in-between man. Not tall or short. Not young or old. Not handsome or ugly enough to be noticeable in bar light.

Sorrel Douglas took a step backward as if surprised the sheriff had taken the time to remember his name. “Miss Malone said she’d like it if you’d come backstage.” Sorrel looked like he was trying to piece a puzzle together. “Probably wants advice about this guy who’s harassing her. He comes in a couple nights a week, and by the last set he’s drunk and thinks he’s going to take her home.” The bartender’s head twitched to the left, but when Dan turned, the big guy who smelled of motor oil at the next table was rushing for the restroom.

Sorrel stopped trying to point with his head. “I know you said you’re off duty, but she wants you to come talk to her for a minute. You wouldn’t believe the number of losers who want to get their hands on Miss Malone. Last week we had a drunk in a suit say he was going to stand at the bar and cry until she showed up to comfort him. He claimed he’d known they were soul mates after two songs. A few boys have even offered me money if I’d pass them her phone number.”

“Right.” Dan made up his mind he wasn’t leaving until midnight. “I’ll be happy to advise her.” Maybe it would be best not to mention that he was one of those men Sorrel was talking about. He wanted to know the lady, too.

“You’ll have to go behind the bar. Hank makes sure the stage door is locked after she disappears.”

Dan pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Any of those guys make it behind the curtained door?” he asked casually.

“You’re the first I’ve seen.” Sorrel laughed as if even the thought of the sheriff going back for any other reason than to answer questions would be ridiculous. “But, it being official business, I guess you don’t count.”

Dan fought down the urge to thump Sorrel in the back of his bald head as he followed the bartender to the sliding door hidden behind the bar. Why was it bartenders and preachers always thought they could read people?

Once Dan stepped through, Sorrel closed the door, leaving the sheriff in almost complete darkness. He felt his way along the littered hallway that smelled of old grease and mold. This part of the club must have been the original space before Hank built on and tripled the size of the place.

The owner had spent money fixing up the front, brought in a polished bar made of solid mahogany, but he hadn’t wasted a dime on even lightbulbs backstage. If it wasn’t for the country music whispering through the wall, Dan would swear he’d fallen into a tunnel. Boxes, trash, an old cot, lawn chairs. Finally he saw a beam of light slicing through a slightly open door just beyond the backstage entrance.

Tapping the wood with his fingertips, he slowly pushed the door open.

Brandi Malone was brushing out her beautiful hair in front of a mirror, so he could see both the back and the front of her at once. Her curly hair hung in waves now. She still wore the wine-red silk blouse and tight leggings that she’d worn on stage. For a few minutes he just stared. Women so beautiful didn’t walk through his life often, and he wanted to enjoy every second of it.

Finally, she looked up and her gaze met his reflected in the mirror.

Dan had no idea what to do. Apologize? Tell her how great she was on stage? Run like hell before he got involved? If he had any heart left for love, this lady could break it with a feather. She probably shattered a dozen guys’ fantasies every night.

Brandi stood and walked to him. He loved watching her move. So graceful, as if the music was still in her.

When she stood a few inches away, he breathed her in as if she were the only fresh air he’d known in years.

Without a word, she leaned against his chest and kissed him.

Dan felt like he’d been frozen for so long that he didn’t remember any warmth. Her kiss wasn’t a passionate attack, or a friendly embrace. It was pure need, and Dan couldn’t have turned away if the building caught fire.

He pulled her close, loving the way the feel of her ran the length of his body. The slow kiss he returned was long and hot. Dan took all she offered. He hadn’t kissed a woman like this in years. Correction, he’d never kissed a woman like this. All out. An overload of every sense. Paradise.

When she moved away enough to laugh, he couldn’t stop smiling. He could feel her laughter against his wet lips.

“I missed you, Sheriff,” she whispered as her warm mouth brushed over his cheek. “I knew you’d be back. We’ve haven’t kissed near enough.”

He’d missed her, too, this woman he’d met once, this lady he’d been hoping to find forever. His arm tightened at her waist. “Again,” he whispered.

She settled against him and gave him what he’d asked for, letting the fire build, letting him know she was in no hurry.

Dan took his time moving his hands along her back, molding her closer. He’d felt passion in his life, but he’d never been lost to it.

Finally, she straightened to look at him.

He stared into her green eyes as he slowly moved his hands over her hips. “You feel so good,” he whispered.

She pressed closer and reached around him to close the door, then returned to study him. “I like you out of uniform, Dan. You look more like a man I might be able to handle.”

He thought of saying he’d like her out of everything, but the words wouldn’t come. His hands slowly moved up her back and dug into her hair. Handling her was exactly what he wanted.

She winked, as if reading his mind. Opening her mouth slightly, she neared until almost touching his lips. “I’m thinking you’re a little rusty when it comes to kissing. How about we start with a little practice?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She kissed him again, taking the lead as before, teaching, demanding, making him feel totally alive for the first time in years.

His life had been about his job and raising his daughter. He’d settled for a comfortable kind of loneliness. Eating meals in front of a ball game. Fishing for hours without really planning his day. Never looking for more than he had.

When she first tried to pull away, he didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. For once he wanted more from life than just settling.

She gently shoved again.

Then he heard someone bumping down the hallway toward her dressing room. Dan nodded once and stepped to the side.

By the time Sorrel tapped on the door, Brandi was sitting in her chair and Dan tried to look as if he was listening while he leaned against one of the storage shelves with his notepad in his hand.

Sorrel let himself in, seemingly unaware that he’d interrupted them. “I brought your nachos, Sheriff, and a beer.”

“Thanks,” Dan answered without looking at the food.

“It’s not any trouble. I always bring Miss Malone a sandwich between the last two sets.”

Dan flipped his notepad closed and accepted the plate. “I’ve a few more questions to ask, Brandi.” He tried to sound official. “Then, when you have time, Mr. Douglas, I’d like to ask you a few.”

“Okay,” Sorrel said as he handed Brandi her tray. “But give her time to eat. It’s a short break, and tonight the crowd is already asking when she’ll be back.”

The bartender turned to Brandi. “Now you tell him all about that creep on the back row who’s been bothering you. The sheriff needs to know.” He turned to Dan. “You wouldn’t believe all the losers and nuts that think she’s singing just for them. The other night after closing one almost knocked the back door down. He was so drunk he thought he had a date with her. Said she was sending him secret messages in her songs.”

Dan nodded. He believed the bartender. After Sorrel left, he set his plate down on the table beside her food. “Much as I’d like to go back to doing what we were doing, I think Sorrel is right.” He turned over a box of paper towels over pulled it up as a chair. “How about we eat as you talk?”

She stuck out her lip in a pout, and he almost withdrew his suggestion.

Before saying a word, she brushed his arm when she reached across and took one of his nachos. “It’s nothing really. Part of the job. If you’re good, the drunks always fall madly in love with you. If you’re breathing, some nut’s going to hit on you. It’s a bar, Sheriff.”

She ate while he stared, knowing what he had to do. If she was really in danger, he needed to make sure he was near. This assignment was no hardship at all. “Tell me the facts, Brandi.”

“This big guy in his forties comes in almost every Tuesday and Saturday. He drinks Jack and Bud until he passes out, or gets generally obscene and Hank kicks him out. I think he’s a trucker because sometimes he looks like he’s put in a long day. He smells of motor oil and fresh-cut wood. There’s no trouble if he only has a few beers. He leaves early, probably going home to his wife, or he’s out of money. But when he settles in for the night, he’s like a wild boar by midnight.”

She shrugged. “I’m not afraid of him, but I hate that Hank and Sorrel have to deal with him.”

Dan brushed her arm when he leaned closer and took half her sandwich. The touch, like hers, had been no accident. There was something very sensual about sharing food. Something lovers did. “And if he had more than a few, is that when he bothers you?”

“No.” She smiled, stealing another chip. “He bothers me all the time. Staring at me. Making obscene signs of what he wants to do with me. Telling anyone who will listen that I’m going to go home with him one night.

“When he’s drunk, he gets loud and starts saying I’m his girl. That’s why Hank started locking the stage door. I step off stage, Hank locks the door from the inside and goes back down the passage to the door by the bar. One night when the trucker tried the door, he pounded so hard they had to throw him out. After that, he’s been better, but he waits outside even after we close.” Brandi bumped Dan’s shoulder with her own. “How can you help?”

“I could talk to him, but unless you want to file a restraining order, there’s not much the law can do.”

She smiled that sad smile again. Like she was forcing sorrow away. Like her whole life was a lie. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I have another set to do. I’ve been hoping you’d come back to hear my songs.”

Dan couldn’t let the problem go. “And if he’s still here later or waiting in the parking lot?”

“Then I’ll sleep here. I’m not driving back to the motel worrying that he might be following.” She stood and fluffed her wild hair, painted her lips, pulled on a vest with fringe that tickled her hips.

He watched, fascinated at how she turned into someone else so fast. The hungry eyes he’d seen when he’d kissed her had frozen to porcelain like a doll’s stare, unreadable, cold. He didn’t know which Brandi was the real one, but both fascinated him.

“I’ll stay until you finish and follow you home, just to make sure.” He hadn’t slept in two days, but Dan knew he wouldn’t close his eyes tonight if he thought she was in danger.

She walked past him and opened the door. When she turned back, no smile curved her full lips. “If you follow me home, Sheriff, you’re not leaving until dawn.”

Every cell in his body wanted to pull her to him, but there was no time. The canned music had stopped. Hank must have unlocked the stage door because his voice blared down the hallway.

Dan stared at her, his words low. “I’m following you home. You’ll be safe tonight.”

“And warm,” she whispered back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tuesday night

CODY WINSLOW THUNDERED through the night on a half-wild horse that loved to run. The moon followed them, dancing along the edge of the canyon as they darted over winter buffalo grass that was stiff with frost.

The former Texas Ranger watched the dark outline of the earth where the land cracked open wide enough for a river to run at its base.

The canyon’s edge seemed to snake closer, as if it were moving, crawling over the flat plains, daring Cody to challenge death. One misstep might take him and the horse over the rim and into the black hole. They’d tumble maybe a hundred feet down, barreling over jagged rocks and frozen juniper branches as sharp as spears. No horse or man would survive.

Only tonight Cody wasn’t worried. He needed to ride, to run, to feel adrenaline pumping in his veins, to know he was alive. He rode hoping to outrun his dark mood.

The demons that were always in the corners of his mind were chasing him tonight. Daring him to step over the edge and tumble into death’s darkness. Whispering that he should give up even trying to live. Betting him to take one more risk...the one that would finally kill him.

“Run,” he shouted to the midnight mare. Nothing would catch him here. Not on his ranch. Not on land his ancestors had hunted on for thousands of years. Fought over. Died for and bled into. Apache blood, settler blood, Comanchero blood was mixed in him as it was in many people in this part of Texas. His family tree was a tumbleweed of every kind of tribe that ever crossed the plains.

If the horse fell and they went to their deaths, no one would find them for weeks on this far corner of his ranch. Even the canyon that twisted like crippled fingers off the great Palo Duro had no name here. It wasn’t beautiful like Ransom Canyon, with layers of earth revealed in a rainbow of colors. Here the rocks were jagged, shooting out of the deep earthen walls from twenty feet in some places, almost like a thin shelf.

The petrified wood formations along the floor of the canyon reminded Cody of snipers waiting, unseen but deadly. Cody felt numb, already dead inside, as he raced across a place with no name on a horse he called Midnight.

The horse’s hooves tapped suddenly over a low place where water ran off the flatland and into the canyon. Frozen now. Silent. Deadly black ice. For a moment the tapping matched Cody’s heartbeat, then both horse and rider seemed to realize the danger at once.

Cody leaned back, pulling the reins, hoping to stop the animal in time, but the horse reared in panic. Dancing on her hind legs for a moment before twisting violently and bucking Cody off as if he was no more than a green rider on his first bronc.

As Cody flew through the night air, he almost smiled. The battle he’d been fighting since he was shot and left for dead on the border three years ago was about to end here on his own land. The voices of all the ancestors who came before him whispered in the wind, as if calling him.

When he hit the frozen ground so hard it knocked the air from his lungs, he knew death wouldn’t come easy tonight. Though he’d welcome the silence, Cody knew he’d fight to the end. He came from generations of fighters. He was the last of his line, and here in the dark he’d make his stand. Too far away to call for help. And too stubborn to ask anyway.

As he fought to breathe, his body slid over a tiny river of frozen rain and into the black canyon.

He twisted, struggling to stop, but all he managed to do was tumble down. Branches whipped against him, and rocks punched his ribs with the force of a prizefighter’s blow. And still he rolled. Over and over. Ice on his skin, warm blood dripping into his eyes. He tried bracing for the hits that came when he landed for a moment before his body rolled again. He grabbed for a rock or a branch to hold on to, but his leather gloves couldn’t get a grip on the ice.