Desert Heat (2 page)

“No,” she replied with false sweetness, figuring he was looking for more publicity than he got already.

“She’ll be haulin’ with Shari.” Charlie flicked his nephew a glance, picking up the faint trace of hostility that arched between them. “Like I said, if Patience needs anything, I hope you boys will help.”

Wes McCauley gave her a smile that actually looked sincere. “You need anything, ma’am, anything at all, you just let me know.”

“Me, too,” said the lanky, sandy-haired cowboy she had seen with Dallas earlier that day, but she thought the remark was aimed more at Shari than at her. Dallas, she noticed, didn’t bother to offer. They didn’t like each other and both of them knew it.

“Thank you,” Patience said to the other two men. “I’ll remember what you said.”

“Hey, Charlie!” One of the cowboys ran toward him down the alley behind the chutes. “We got trouble! You better get over here!”

Charlie sighed. “Gotta go. See ya after the show.” Charlie took off and Dallas left with him.

“Poor Charlie.” Shari shook her head, moving the ends of the red bandana tying back her shoulder-length curly red hair. “He’s sure had his share of bad luck lately.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. He seems like a really nice man.”

“Charlie’s the best.” She glanced off in the direction the men had disappeared. “You know what they say—trouble always comes in threes. I wonder what it is this time.”

The trouble turned out to be a blown PA system. As Charlie scrambled to find a substitute, one of the clowns went into the arena to stall for time.

By the time the problem was corrected, the show was half an hour late getting started and Charlie was out the cost of a new PA system. Still, once the events got underway, the audience got into the spirit.

Patience felt a hum of excitement as she stood in the staging area where the cowboys got ready to perform. There was movement all around her. One of the clowns adjusted the red suspenders holding up his baggy jeans while a cowboy buckled on his fringed leather chaps. A man walked his dogs, three Australian shepherds, the stars of a contract act slated to perform in the middle of the show. There were a number of press people—the group she had been tossed into—as well as the wives, children, and girlfriends of the contestants, though they were mostly in a small set of bleachers reserved for their use.

Rodeo was big, bold, flashy entertainment, an extreme sport that offered chills and thrills, excitement and danger. The sport had begun in the late eighteen-hundreds, growing out of the ranching and cattle industry, and still carried an aura of that time.

Tonight was an indoor, night performance beginning with the usual mounted salute to the Stars and Stripes. Riders on two big pinto horses, each carrying a massive flag, galloped full speed around the ring, spurred on by the audience singing “there ain’t no doubt I love this land,” the lyrics of “God Bless the U.S.A.” The national anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance followed, then the competition began.

The opening event, bareback bronc riding, was a tough and dangerous event. A dark-skinned cowboy in a steel-reinforced vest worn to keep his ribs from being crushed if the horse stepped on him wrapped his neck to keep from getting whiplash and climbed up on the chute. Several other riders helped him get settled and keep from falling into the chute beneath the horse’s thrashing hooves.

The gate opened and the horse charged out. The cowboy managed to stay on the cantankerous little pinto named Wildfire who leapt and twisted but couldn’t seem to shake him, and wound up making a high-scoring ride.

The steer wrestling followed, a big man’s event. It took a good deal of brawn to lean down from a horse galloping at full speed, grab hold of a pair of horns, and bring down a five-hundred-pound steer. The first man out was Wes McCauley, who thundered down the arena next to his hazer, the man who rode on the opposite side of the steer to keep him running straight ahead. McCauley brought the steer to a halt in the deep black dirt in the middle of the ring, but his time wasn’t all that fast and as he rode out he didn’t look happy about it.

The dog act followed, giving the contestants time to get ready for the saddle-bronc event.

“You ever see Dallas ride?” Shari asked, standing next to Patience behind the fence.

“Only on TV.” Her gaze fixed on the cute little dog in the arena standing two-legged on the handle of a broom.

“You don’t like him much, do you?”

She managed a nonchalant shrug. “I hardly know him. Why would I dislike him?”

Shari grinned. “Stormy said the two of you got off to a rocky start.”

Patience watched a second clown in a gigantic pair of Wranglers rush into the ring. “I guess you could call it that. He’s all right, I guess. If you don’t mind a guy whose ego is as big as his hat.”

Shari laughed. “Wait till you see him ride.”

More excited by the prospect than she cared to admit, Patience followed Shari up to the fence in the area set aside for the riders’ families.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called out. “Please turn your attention to chute number three. Two time World Champion All-Around Cowboy Dallas Kingman on a horse called Cyclone.”

There was a racket in the chute, the jingle of spurs as Dallas settled himself in the saddle and words of encouragement from the cowboys hanging over the gate, helping him get ready to make his ride. He pulled his hat down low across his forehead, settled himself even deeper in the saddle, and nodded for the gate to open.

“My friends—this is a horse that can buck!”

An instant later, the powerful buckskin leapt out of the chute and straight up into the air. Black and gold fringe went flying, spurs flashed in the arena spotlights, saddle leather creaked, and hooves pounded as the massive horse crashed back to earth. The animal spun to the right, then bolted up and twisted, kicking wildly to dislodge the cowboy on his back.

Dallas Kingman rode him as if he were on a Sunday outing. It was impossible for a man to look graceful with a horse leaping and bucking, kicking and spinning beneath him. It was impossible, but Dallas Kingman managed to do it.

“When he rides, they call him The King!” the announcer shouted, and Patience knew exactly what he meant.

It wasn’t the same as watching a horse and rider on TV. Not nearly the same. As the eight seconds ticked past, Patience found herself holding her breath. Her pulse thrummed and her adrenaline pumped so hard her head began to spin. Then, the buzzer sounded and the crowd went wild. Up in the stands, the arena lights illuminated people cheering, throwing empty popcorn cartons into the air and wildly stamping their feet. Dust drifted into the bleachers, covering the fans, leaving them nearly as dusty as the cowboys.

She returned her attention to Dallas, who grabbed the shoulders of one of the pickup men, slid off Cyclone, and landed neatly on the ground. His chaps flicked against his boots as he made his way back toward the chutes, raised his hat and waved to the crowd. She had watched enough rodeo to know the ride had been spectacularly good. She wasn’t surprised when the score came back at ninety-one points, putting Dallas Kingman in the lead.

She tried not to be impressed, but there was no use lying to herself. The man was a champion. She could respect that about him if nothing else.

Shari left her at the fence to watch the rest of the show and went out to the warm up area where Button, Shari’s barrel-racing horse, stood waiting. Patience watched the barrels being driven into the arena in the back of a big Dodge truck. Half a dozen cowboys rolled them out to form a triangle in the center of the ring and the racing was ready to begin.

Shari was the third contestant. Button roared off the starting line, Shari leaning over his neck as they headed for the barrel to the left. She took him though the first turn, the sorrel’s long body curling perfectly around the barrel without knocking it over—a penalty that would add five seconds to her time—and the horse charged for the second. They made a figure eight, looping around the second barrel, took the third, then the low-running sorrel stretched out for the drive toward the finish line.

Shari made the run in fifteen and nine tenths seconds, placing her in the top three, which meant she would bring home some money. She was grinning as she blazed past Patience out the gate, knowing she had made a great run.

When the rodeo, a one-day performance, was over, Patience walked to where her soon-to-be-roommate stood talking to a group of other barrel racers. Shari gave her a welcoming smile.

“Nice ride,” Patience said.

“Most of the credit goes to Button.” Shari rubbed the pretty white star on the sorrel’s nose, then turned to the other women.

“Gals, this is Patience Sinclair, the woman I told you about. She’s gonna be travelin’ with me this summer.” She turned to the riders, introducing each of them in turn. Two of them were from Oklahoma, attractive women in their bright-colored barrel-racing clothes.

“And this is Jade Egan. She’s from Houston.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Patience said.

The first two women seemed friendly enough. Though eager to get their animals put away, they offered to give her any help she might need with her article and said good-bye with smiles on their faces.

Jade Egan was another matter entirely. “Patience, huh…? That’s a funny name. I bet your sister’s name is Wisdom.”

Patience forced herself to smile. “Actually, their names are Charity and Hope.”

“No kidding. Shari says you’re from Boston.” Jade took in Patience’s newly purchased western clothes and a smug smile appeared on her face. “A little far from home, aren’t you?”

“She’s doing research, Jade. I already told you that.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Jade moved closer. She was small and dark-haired, her skin unblemished and paler than most of the other women, as if she made careful use of her sunscreen.

Patience worked to keep her smile in place. “I’m writing about cowgirls—the modern day sort as well as those of the past. Women’s barrel racing evolved from the relay races in the early rodeos. It’s an important part of my research.”

Jade cocked a winged black eyebrow, her smug smile still in place. “You ever tried it?”

“No. No, I haven’t.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“It’s time we got going,” Shari said to Patience, tugging on her arm. “I need to get Button rubbed down and put away. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

Shari led Button back toward the livestock barns and Patience walked beside them, thinking about the women she had met. She wished she had gotten off on a better foot with Jade, one of the event’s top contestants, but perhaps in time things would smooth out between them.

“Jade’s a spoiled little rich girl,” Shari said, apparently reading her mind. “Don’t let her get to you.”

“She’s a good rider. She had the fastest time of the night.”

“Oh, she can ride. But her daddy pays for everything. Jade is used to getting what she wants and she doesn’t like anyone getting in her way.”

Patience stopped and turned. “Am I missing something here?”

Shari tied the sorrel to the pipe fence and began to unbuckle the flank strap on her saddle. “Jade and Dallas used to have a thing. As far as Jade’s concerned, they still do. She probably saw you talking to him out on the road when you came in.” Shari grinned. “Either that or she thinks you might be competition.”

“Actually, I think Jade and Dallas are perfect for each other.”

Shari laughed. She loosened the cinch and lifted off the saddle, a lightweight barrel style still steaming underneath from Button’s high-speed run.

“He’s a beautiful horse.” Patience ran a hand down the animal’s sweat-slicked neck.

“Button’s one of the best barrel horses in the business. I wouldn’t trust him with just anyone, but my trailer’s falling apart and like I said when you called, I need to save as much money as I can this summer so I can go back to school in the fall. The good news is, I found someone to haul him I know will take good care of him.”

“Great.”

“You met him earlier…Steve Weathers? Everyone calls him Stormy. He travels with Dallas unless Dallas is off at some big rodeo. West Wind Trailers is one of Dallas’s sponsors. He’s got a custom three-horse rig with one of those fancy built-in RV sleepers. Stormy asked him if they could take Button, and Dallas said it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Patience ran the information around in her head, a sinking feeling creeping into the pit of her stomach. “That means you’ll be going to the same shows as Stormy, right?”

“Yeah, which is good, because he and Dallas always hit the highest paying shows.”

Which meant her nemesis, Dallas Kingman, would be around a lot more than she had expected.

“I know what you’re thinking and you don’t have to worry. Once you get to know him, Dallas is a real nice guy.”

Patience just smiled.

So far, the first day of her adventure hadn’t been her favorite.

It was late in the evening by the time Patience drove back to the Cozy Nest Motel not far from the rodeo grounds and settled into the spartan room she had rented when she got into town. She was tired from the long, exhausting trip. She hadn’t flown directly to Texas, but yesterday had landed in Oklahoma City, then driven today the two hundred fifty odd miles to the little town of Rocky Hill.

It was hard to believe she had actually arrived, that tonight she had attended her first rodeo. She had been so excited and in such a hurry to get to the arena, she had left her cell phone on the dresser in the motel room. She picked it up as soon as she walked through the door and punched in her dad’s home number, knowing he would be worried if he didn’t hear from her soon.

His wife, Tracy, answered. Patience had been eleven when her father had married Tracy, just twenty-six at the time. The two of them had wound up being more like sisters than mother and daughter. Still, Tracy sounded relieved to hear her voice. Patience knew she wasn’t the only one who had been changed by Tyler Stanfield. Her family had suffered as well.

Tracy asked if everything was going all right, seemed satisfied that it was, and handed her husband the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Ed Sinclair was a little taller than average, with salt-and-pepper hair and dark, square-framed glasses. Kind of scholarly looking, Patience had always thought, but then, he was a professor.

“Hi, Dad. Just wanted to let you know I got here without any trouble.” She had gotten there just fine. The trouble had started once she arrived. “Shari’s really nice,” she continued, careful not to mention Jade Egan or Dallas Kingman. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you called. I was starting to worry.”

“Dad, you promised.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…well…Hope said you saw Tyler at the market and I was worried he might have followed you.”

“I was careful. I actually changed taxis twice on my way to the airport. I’m sure I was probably being paranoid, but I figured better safe than sorry.”

“I think that was wise.”

“How’s Snickers?” she asked, not wanting to talk about Tyler Stanfield.

“Snickers is fine.” Her father and stepmother were taking care of her black-and-white cat while she was away. “He’s in the living room with Tracy, watching TV.”

The image made her smile. She loved the little cat. She had worried about her pet every day, afraid Tyler might hurt the cat to get back at her.

The conversation was brief. It had been a long, stressful day and she needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow she would be turning in the flashy red convertible and signing the papers on the Chevy pickup and eighteen-foot travel trailer she had bought over the Internet with the money from a small inheritance she and her sisters each received when their grandfather had passed away.

Unfortunately, even after taking out her contact lenses, indulging in a long hot shower, and putting on her cotton nightgown, once she climbed into bed, she was still running so high on adrenaline she couldn’t fall asleep. She didn’t doze off until after two in the morning. Since she was scheduled to pick up the truck at seven-thirty, then drive to Llano to rendezvous with Shari, she didn’t get much rest.

She was tired when the alarm went off, slapping on the button and nearly knocking the clock on the floor, but she had too much to do to dwell on her fatigue. Aside from the thrill of traveling the rodeo circuit, by the end of summer—God willing—she would have the last of her research finished and her thesis completed.

And there was the added bonus she had stumbled onto a little over a month ago. Last summer her sister Charity had started doing work on family genealogy, which she had continued to do even after her marriage and move to Seattle. Recently, Charity had discovered a little-known great grandmother, a relative on their mother’s side of the family, a woman named Adelaide Whitcomb.

Adelaide, Charity discovered, had been an early rodeo performer—an interesting coincidence—though Charity didn’t believe Patience’s long-time interest in the West had anything to do with chance. More like a calling of the blood, her sister would say.

Whatever the truth, as soon as the information surfaced, Patience began writing to distant relatives that Charity helped her track down, determined to learn as much as she could. Amazingly, several family members answered, including a cousin a jillion times removed who lived in Oklahoma City.

“I’m the one who wound up with Aunt Addie’s fringed leather riding skirt and cuff guards,” her cousin said when they spoke on the phone. “My father told me she wore them in the rodeo when she was eighteen.”

Another cousin in the same city claimed to have part of a set of journals that Patience’s great grandmother had written.

“I’ll be happy to loan you what I’ve got,” the woman said. “Why don’t you stop by so all of us can meet? I didn’t even know I had a cousin in Boston.”

The experience had been interesting, to say the least, though her Oklahoma relatives were as different from the Boston side of the family as maple syrup and molasses.

Patience had spent the night with Cousin Betty and her husband, George, borrowed the journal, and set out the next day for Texas, hoping the information between the faded tapestry covers would bring a new perspective to her work.

Patience thought of the journal that morning as she turned in the rental car at a Hertz drop-off station, then walked over to where the man with the ’94 Chevy pickup and eighteen-foot travel trailer waited at the curb with the engine running.

The owner, a short, stout, gray-haired man with several gold teeth, turned off the motor and led her back to the trailer for a quick inspection. It was immaculately clean and well cared for, she saw, with a cozy little kitchen and dinette area, a bathroom with a minuscule shower, and a set of bunk beds down at one end. The pickup appeared to be in equally good condition, though what she knew about cars wouldn’t fill the toe of her boot.

“They both look great,” she said to the owner, Mr. Nelson.

“Always kept her in good condition. You do the same, she’ll get you where you want to go.”

Patience handed him a cashier’s check in return for the vehicle pink slips. Mr. Nelson gave her the operating manuals and a quick lesson in how to fill and empty the holding tanks. Once he was finished, she opened the door and climbed behind the wheel. It wasn’t big as pickups went, only a half ton, not one of the heavy diesels, but sitting there in the seat, it felt like an eighteen-wheeler.

“Did a little rodeoing myself in my younger years,” Mr. Nelson said, watching her from the passenger side of the vehicle as she gave him a ride back to his house. She had seen the rodeo sticker on the bumper but she didn’t ask him about it. She needed to get on the road.

“You ever pulled a trailer before?” he asked, sensing her nervousness.

“No, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” She didn’t mention she had never driven a pickup truck, either.

Mr. Nelson cast her a look, then began to give her tips on handling the rig. By the time they reached his house, her palms had stopped sweating and she had begun to feel a little more in control.

“You take care now, you hear?” Mr. Nelson said through the passenger window as he climbed out of the truck.

“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Taking a calming breath, Patience stepped on the gas and headed for the highway leading south to Llano and her rendezvous with Shari, praying Shari would approve of her purchase.

It was hot in Texas that first day of June, hotter than Patience was used to. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and she figured the temperature had to be in the nineties. The collar of her long-sleeved western shirt scratched the back of her neck and her new jeans chafed the insides of her thighs. She cranked up the air-conditioning and settled herself in the slow lane, grateful for the big ugly mirrors on the side of the truck that helped her keep the trailer inside the painted lines.

She was doing okay, driving a little slower than she wanted, but beginning to get the feel of the vehicle. Then she hit a long, steep incline and had to pass a big rig in front of her. Her pulse kicked into gear and her palms started sweating again. As she pulled up next to the big truck and trailer, it seemed like only inches separated the two of them. Once her trailer cleared, she pulled back in front of the truck into the slow lane where she felt a little safer.

Unfortunately, when she glanced down at the temperature gauge, she saw that the dial was leaning hard into the red.

“Oh, God.” Searching the distance, all she saw was cactus and desert and vast stretches of bright blue sky. She sighed with relief as she spotted a wide place in the road where she could safely pull over. Slowing the pickup, she drove off to the side, and turned off the engine.

Dammit, she didn’t know a blasted thing about engines. She’d once considered taking a class in auto repair designed especially for women and now she wished she had. Knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good, she climbed down from the truck, went around to the front and lifted the hood. The radiator smelled hot, and gurgling sounds came from somewhere down inside. She wondered if she should unscrew the cap, but a little voice warned her not to.

Of all the luck! She had her cell phone, of course, but there wasn’t a town for miles and it could take hours for a tow truck to get there. Swallowing an urge to swear, Patience stared up the long stretch of road and walked back to her cell phone, resigned to a long wait in the broiling Texas sun.

Dallas followed the ribbon of highway heading toward Llano. There were other, bigger rodeos, shows that paid a lot more money, and if he wanted to wind up in the top fifteen and qualify for the National Finals in Las Vegas in December, he needed to be competing in those. But he was worried about Charlie and he wanted to be around to help as much as he could until things straightened out.

Charlie Carson, his mother’s brother, had practically raised him. Dallas had been twelve years old when Jolie Carson Kingman had died. It was Charlie—not Dallas’s father—who had stepped in and helped him through the worst time of his life. It was Charlie and his wife, Annie, who had been there when Dallas needed them, and Dallas would never forget what they had done.

After that, Dallas had spent every summer until he was grown on the Circle C Ranch, eight thousand prime, cattle-raising acres southwest of Bandera, in the fabulous Texas Hill Country. It was Charlie who taught him to ride, Charlie who instilled the love of ranching and rodeo that made Dallas the man he was today.

But lately, things hadn’t been going so well for Charlie.

Dallas thought of the string of bad luck that seemed to be following the Circle C Production Company. Stock truck breakdowns, drivers not showing up to haul their loads, the PA system going down. Those things happened, of course. It was just part of the business. Still, the problems were beginning to wear on Circle C finances. Even Charlie’s usual optimism was starting to wear thin, and Dallas was beginning to get worried that something more than just bad luck was going on.

Hopefully, things would return to normal and Dallas could get back to serious rodeoing. Some of the biggest shows in the country were coming up this summer and he intended to be there, to win as much money as he could. At year’s end, based on their total dollar earnings, the top fifteen cowboys in each event were chosen to compete in the National Finals Rodeo. The big money was paid in Vegas, and as he had for the past two years, Dallas intended to win.

He was thinking of Llano and the rodeo coming up in a couple of days, when he spotted a brown Chevy pickup and little white travel trailer stalled in a wide spot on the road. He might not have stopped if he hadn’t seen the sticker on the bumper—RODEO ROCKS—and noticed that the driver was a woman.

Checking his wristwatch, hoping he wasn’t going to be late for the show, he pulled over behind the trailer, turned off the engine of his big black Dodge dually, and cracked open the door. In the horse trailer behind him, he heard Lobo whicker and reminded himself to check on the three horses inside before he pulled out again.

He was smiling as he approached the rolled-down window of the Chevy, until he caught sight of the woman’s face.

Sonofabitch.

Until that moment, he’d been thinking how pretty she was. Yesterday, her blond hair had been mostly hidden by her hat. Today she wore it loose, down past her shoulders. It wasn’t curly, just kind of soft and ripply. Her lips were lush and a nice shade of pink.

But her smile slid away as she recognized who he was, replaced by a look of grudging relief tinged with a hint of irritation.

“I appreciate your stopping. I think my engine’s overheated.”

“I thought you drove a convertible,” he said a little more harshly than he meant to.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I rented it for the drive from the airport. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He started toward the front of the pickup and she scrambled down from the driver’s seat and walked up beside him. He caught a whiff of her cologne, something subtle and expensive, and felt a sudden tightening in his groin.

“Radiator’s hot. That long grade we just came up will do that if you aren’t careful. You didn’t have your air conditioner on, did you?”

She straightened a little, looked him in the eye. “Well, yes. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s broiling hot out here.”

His mouth barely curved. “You better get used to it, darlin’. This is a cool spring day in Texas.”

She tried to look at him down her nose, but as tall as she was, he was a whole lot taller. “Maybe so, but it feels darned hot to me.”

“You were hot, so you decided to ignore the warning signs. You know, the ones that say ‘turn off your air conditioner so your car won’t overheat.’”

She bit her lip and he felt that unwanted twinge again. Damn, she was pretty.

“I didn’t see a sign. I guess I was concentrating too hard on staying on the road.”

He glanced from her worried features back to the trailer and a lightbulb went on in his head. “Let me guess—you’ve never pulled a trailer before.”