Desert Heat (3 page)

“Well, no, but I was doing just fine until I got to that hill.”

Dallas sighed. A complete greenhorn—and she planned to travel with Shari. Since Stormy had a thing for Shari and had managed to con Dallas into taking care of Shari’s horse, this was definitely not good news. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring any water?”

“Of course.” She turned and raced back to the truck and he couldn’t resist looking at those long, long legs. She was nicely put together, he had to give her that. He watched her disappear inside the truck and come back with one of those little, individual-size plastic bottles of water with half the contents gone.

Dallas sighed and started walking back to his truck.

“Where are you going? You’re not just going to leave?”

He’d like to. Stormy would kill him if he did. Instead, he grabbed the five-gallon can of water he carried in the bed of his truck and returned to the hood of the Chevy.

“Stand back. Radiators can be dangerous when they get this hot.” But the cap had a steam release and a cloud of mist shot into the air. A few minutes later he had the radiator refilled, which cooled the engine down, and the metal cap back on.

“Why don’t you start her up?”

“All right.” She climbed behind the wheel and cranked the engine, which fired right up. Dallas slammed the hood and checked to make sure it was tight. She was smiling from behind the wheel when he walked to the driver’s window.

“Looks like you did it. The gauge isn’t showing red anymore.”

He nodded. “Out here, you need to carry water. Only an idiot would tackle this road on a day like this with nothing but that little plastic bottle.”

The grateful smile slid away. “I’ll buy a jug the next time I get gas.”

She didn’t thank him for stopping, though he figured she would have if he hadn’t made that wise-ass remark. He wasn’t sure why he had. Maybe it was something to do with his father and stepmother, big-time in Houston society, all show and nothing underneath, just like little Ms. Boston. Whatever it was, there was something about Patience Sinclair that seemed to rub him exactly the wrong way.

“There’s a ravine a few feet in front of you,” he told her. “You’ll need to back up and swing the trailer a little to the right before you pull back onto the road.”

The color bled from her face. “Back up?”

“Yeah—as in put the truck in reverse, crank the wheel, and step on the gas.”

She swallowed. “Crank the wheel…which way?” Her eyes were big and green, her lashes thick and spiky. He could read the trepidation and found himself reaching for the handle and pulling open the door.

“Move over. I’ll do it for you.”

She didn’t budge. Instead, her hands tightened around the wheel, slim fingers and neatly trimmed, white-tipped manicured nails. “I need to learn. I’d rather you just told me what to do.”

“Look, Patience, like you said, it’s hotter than blazes out here. If you’ve never done this before, it isn’t that easy. It’ll take you half the day.”

“What if I have to do it when you aren’t around?”

“I’ll tell you what. When we get to Llano—I presume that’s where you’re headed.” She nodded. “When we get to Llano, I’ll show you how to back this thing up, okay?”

She still looked uncertain. He wasn’t sure if it was the lesson she was worried about or the fact that he would be the teacher. He didn’t much like the idea himself.

“All right, you win,” she said. “It really is hot out here.” Patience slid across the seat and he climbed up beside her, trying to ignore her great-smelling perfume and the brush of her thigh against his. It didn’t take long to jockey the truck and trailer into a better position to get back onto the road. He left the engine running and got down from the cab.

“I appreciate your help,” she said a little stiffly, as if she had to force out the words.

“No problem.” He didn’t say more, just returned to the trailer, checked on Button, Lobo, and Stormy’s horse, Gus, then climbed up in the Dodge. He waited till she pulled back onto the roadway, then drove in behind her. He left her crawling along in the slow lane with her windows rolled down. He needed to get to the rodeo grounds and at the speed she was traveling, she wouldn’t arrive before midnight.

He couldn’t help smiling at the incongruous picture she made in the old brown pickup, her blond hair damp and sticking to her temples, makeup beginning to run in the heat. But even hot and sweaty and dressed in cowboy clothes, she oozed a sense of class. What the hell was an upper-crust woman from Boston doing in Texas?

Dallas shook his head. One thing he knew, rodeo attracted all kinds of people.

Well, Shari’s Mr. Nice Guy, Dallas Kingman, was as big a jerk as ever. Sure he had stopped to help. He hadn’t recognized her at first, probably thought she was some poor needy female who would crawl all over him with gratitude. Patience would have been a lot more grateful if the man had been halfway pleasant.

At least she was on her way again. Not moving very fast, but rolling along the highway. She had called and cancelled the tow truck when the engine temperature fell back into the moderate zone, then down the road took a chance and put the air conditioner on again. The rush of cool air revived her spirits and she pressed a little harder on the accelerator, building up a bit more speed.

The terrain changed a little, grew less hilly as she rolled south toward Llano. The Texas landscape was rugged. Mostly tumbleweeds, coarse sand, blowing winds, and sagebrush, which seemed to thrive on the hot dry sun. The only break in the vast brown earth stretching out in front of her was a scattering of wildflowers: a few bluebonnets and some bright orange Indian paintbrush.

She stopped for gas in a town called Cherokee and bought a big plastic jug of water, which made her angry at Dallas all over again. She had hoped he might be friendlier the next time they met, but it certainly hadn’t happened today. His soft Texas drawl carried an edge he seemed to reserve just for her and those handsome features held a trace of sarcasm he didn’t bother to hide.

Which suited her just fine. She wasn’t one of those women who made a fool of herself over a pair of blue eyes. She didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. She had far more important things to do.

And so when she finally pulled into the rodeo grounds in Llano, her thoughts were fixed on her research, on the study she needed to complete and the hope that her new roommate would like the trailer she had purchased. If Shari approved, they would need to stock up on supplies so that when the Llano rodeo was over, they would be ready to hit the road.

“Hey, there!” Shari waved and called out as Patience drove the Chevy toward the place where the guard at the gate had instructed her to park. She had no idea how she was going to turn around and grudgingly surveyed the area in search of Dallas. She didn’t see him, but she spotted his fancy black Dodge dually and RV horse trailer sitting not far away.

“I see you made it without a problem,” Shari said through the window of the truck.

Patience smiled and cracked open the door. “Actually, the engine overheated or I would have been here sooner. Dallas Kingman stopped and helped me out.”

“That sounds like Dallas. I told you he was nice.”

Patience managed a smile. “Yes, that’s what you said.”

Shari cast her a glance, but didn’t say more. “Pickup looks good. Can I take a look inside the trailer?”

“Sure, come on.” They ducked inside the rig and closed the door. Fortunately, there were enough windows that it didn’t feel all that crowded. Still, it was hot inside. Patience reached up and turned on the fan above the bunks to stir up a little cool air.

“This is great.” Shari tested one of the beds. “The kitchen has a stove and fridge, which is bound to come in handy, and you’ve got room in the dining area to set up your laptop.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I was hoping you would think it was okay.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve stayed in a lot worse places than this. We won’t be inside much during the day and it’s a lot cooler at night. We can always rent motel rooms if we get to feeling claustrophobic. In the meantime, this will save us a lot of money.”

Patience turned off the fan and they climbed down from the trailer. “I was wondering…by any chance, have you ever pulled one of these?”

Shari nodded. “Horse trailers. This won’t be much different.”

“I’m glad to hear it because I’m going to need a lesson in backing up.”

“No problem. In the morning, I can—”

“I thought I was supposed to give you a lesson.” The edge was gone from the drawl. The familiar deep voice made her stomach flutter. She turned to find Dallas Kingman leaning against the side of the trailer, his black felt hat shoved back, a stem of straw stuck between teeth so white he could have posed for a Colgate ad.

“I guess I won’t be needing your help after all,” Patience told him, thankful it was true. “Shari can teach me whatever I need to know.”

He tossed the straw away and his gaze moved slowly down her body. “Oh, I don’t know…I might be able to teach you a few things Shari couldn’t.”

She didn’t say a word. Every spot those blue eyes touched was starting to tingle. She didn’t understand it. For heaven’s sake—they didn’t even like each other!

She couldn’t help thinking of Tyler Stanfield. At first, she’d been attracted to him, too. Then she’d found out what a jerk he really was. Her track record with men was so bad it was embarrassing. Another figure appeared at the edge of her vision.

“Well, if it isn’t Shari’s new friend Prudence.” At Jade Egan’s slur, Patience clamped down on her temper.

“It’s Patience, not Prudence. And your name was…something to do with a rock, as I recall.”

Jade stiffened, and Dallas tugged his hat down to hide a grin. “I guess you two have met,” he said.

“Oh, we’ve met.” Jade’s smug gaze traveled over Patience’s clothes. “Dressed like that, I figured she was from Hollywood, but Shari says it’s Boston.” Jade flashed a phony smile. “I still haven’t figured out what an easterner who’s never been on a horse is doing on the rodeo circuit.”

Patience opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had been riding since she was a little girl—English, not western, but so what? For the last three summers, she had worked at Parklands Stables, giving riding lessons to children, but that was none of Jade Egan’s business.

“Hey, Dallas!” Wes McCauley walked toward them, taller even than Dallas, and bulkier, heavier through the chest and shoulders. “Hotshot’s started limping. Can you take a quick look at him for me?”

“Sure. Where is he?”

“Over by my trailer.”

Dallas started following Wes, and Jade fell in beside them. Dressed in a gold lamé barrel-racing shirt, gold britches molded to a perfect derriere, Jade smiled up at Dallas, then tossed Patience a backward glance that held a note of warning.

“I told you she was jealous,” Shari said. “She wants Dallas back, only I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Why not?”

“Because Jade is spoiled and selfish and Dallas isn’t that way.”

Patience watched his long-legged stride and noticed the width of his shoulders. She saw the way his faded jeans outlined the muscles in his thighs. A bunch of fans, mostly women, rushed up to him, swarmed around him and Wes. She watched the women fawn over him and felt a fresh wave of dislike for him.

“You can say what you want. I still think he and Jade are a perfect match.”

The remark drew a chuckle from Shari. “What’s your middle name?” she asked, her gaze following Jade’s retreating figure.

“Jean. Why?”

“Because I’m tired of Jade’s harassment. Practically everybody in the business has a nickname. From now on you’re P.J. You okay with that?”

Patience frowned. “P.J.? It sounds like something you wear to bed.”

Shari snorted a laugh. “I’m likin’ you better all the time.”

Patience grinned. “You know, it kind of has a western ring. I think I like it.”

“Good. And tomorrow we’re stoppin’ at the Laundromat on the way out of town. We’re gonna wash those jeans, get out some of the new. And as for that hat—”

Patience snatched the hat off her head and held it in front of her. “What’s wrong with my hat? It’s a brand new straw Bailey. I bet yours is the very same brand.”

Shari shoved her own hat back on her head. “There’s nothing wrong with the hat. It’s the crimp that’s the problem.”

“Crimp? What crimp? I don’t see any crimp?”

“That’s the problem.” Shari plucked it out of her hand and started bending the edges. Patience fought an urge to snatch it back.

“There. Now it looks like it’s been worn more than once. Put it on; see if it doesn’t look better.”

With some reluctance, Patience settled the hat on her head and Shari tugged her over to the mirror next to the driver’s window of Dallas’s truck. The change was subtle, but…

Patience turned to Shari. “You know, it does look better.”

Shari stared down at Patience’s boots, an extra pair that were brown instead of red.

“Don’t tell me you hate my boots.”

“Those are fine. Save the red ones for when we go dancin’ after the perf. You’ll get plenty of use out of them, I promise.”

“Dancing? You mean like the Texas two-step? I wouldn’t have the vaguest notion how to—”

“You’ll learn.” Shari flashed her a teasing smile. “Maybe Dallas will give you a lesson.”

Color washed into Patience’s cheeks. “Dallas? Are you kidding?”

But Shari just laughed, and Patience ignored the little curl of heat that formed in the pit of her stomach.

Towering cottonwoods along the banks of the Llano River stretched out around the rodeo grounds. There was an RV Park in the Robinson City complex, which would give Patience and Shari a chance to try out their newly purchased portable sleeping quarters later that night.

The show began right on time, starting with the usual rousing red, white, and blue salute followed by the introduction of local officials and the rodeo queen. It was a hot, dusty day, without the slightest breeze, but none of the cowboys grumbled. Instead, they busied themselves wrapping once-shattered wrists and sprained ankles, sliding protective vests over freshly pressed long-sleeved shirts.

The events went off without a hitch, first bareback bronc riding followed by steer wrestling, then saddle broncs, barrel racing, and bulls.

Shari’s ride wasn’t fast enough to make any money, but “The King,” as usual, wound up winning first place. As soon as the show was over, Patience and Shari headed into town for supplies, returning a few hours later with bedding and blankets, enough water and food for at least the next few days. Mr. Nelson, the previous owner, had left pots, pans, and a set of plastic dishes in the kitchen, so that was taken care of. Patience suggested they toss a coin for the lower berth but Shari wouldn’t hear of it.

“Age before beauty,” she teased, being twenty-six, a whole year younger than Patience.

They had planned to eat in that night, but Wes and Stormy stopped by and said the whole gang was going into town for Mexican food and invited them to come along. Stormy said they could all ride in Dallas’s truck, and though Patience tried to decline, in the end, she acquiesced, climbing into the backseat next to Wes.

The big black Dodge was cleaner than she expected, the interior smelling of oiled saddle leather and traces of a man’s cologne. Shari sat in the front between Dallas and Stormy, while Wes regaled them with the men’s exploits over the years.

“Hey, Dallas—remember that time in El Paso? That was the night you were hitting on that little brunette at the Three Jacks, that raunchy strip club downtown. Then her husband came in and started throwing punches.” He grinned at Patience. “Damned near cut off Dallas’s head with a busted beer bottle before we got the guy calmed down. ’Course it was the husband who wound up getting carried out of the place.”

“I didn’t know she was married,” Dallas said darkly from behind the steering wheel.

“Then there was that time in Rapid City when you—”

“Knock it off, Wes,” Dallas warned. “We can all do without the reminiscing—unless you want me to tell the ladies about that time in Las Vegas when you—”

“Okay, okay. I get the message.” Wes chuckled and finally fell silent and a few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the restaurant, a place on Bessemer Street called El Paquito. Several other trucks Patience recognized from the rodeo grounds were already parked outside.

When they walked through the door, the rest of their party was seated at a long wooden table that ran the length of the room. She recognized Cy Jennings, the bullfighter, and a barrel racer named Tammy Stockton sitting next to Jade Egan.

The El Paquito had a rustic, authentic Mexican look with a round fireplace at one end, reed ceilings, and red tile floors. Wes sat down on the bench beside her and Dallas sat across from her on the opposite side, several seats down from Jade. No one seemed to notice Jade’s frown, especially not Dallas, who appeared perfectly content where he was.

Wes, as usual, kick-started the conversation. Shari and Stormy had been calling her P.J. all evening and Wes had begun to pick it up.

“Hey, P.J.,” he said. “Hotshot came up with a stone bruise this afternoon. Look’s like he’ll be down for a couple of days. You interested in doing a little sight-seeing tomorrow? There’s a place called Enchanted Rock I heard about, maybe fifteen, twenty miles away. Supposed to be an interesting place.”

Patience smiled. “Actually, I’ve read about it. It’s a big pink granite boulder on something like six hundred acres. The Indians believed it held special powers.”

“Really?” Tammy reached over to pick up a tortilla chip. “What kind of powers?”

“Well, they said lights flickered at the top and they could hear this eerie groaning—which, I guess is actually the rock heating up in the daytime and cooling down at night. The Comanche used to make human sacrifices to appease the gods who lived there.”

“You’re kidding.” Shari dipped a chip into a bowl of salsa. “I thought only the Aztecs did that.”

“In the early eighteen hundreds, one tribe captured the daughter of a rival chief and carried her off to the mountain. As the story goes, the woman’s betrothed was a young Spanish don. When he found out Rosa had been stolen, he rounded up men and rode out to rescue her. He found her tied to a stake, piles of wood stacked around her, ready to go up in flames. They say the young don went nearly crazy. He rode into the Indian camp, fighting like a madman. In the end, he saved his beloved and they rode off together.”

Patience smiled, until she realized the entire table had fallen silent and Dallas Kingman was staring at her as if she had grown two heads.

“How do you know all that? I thought you said you’d never been here.”

“I-I told you—I read about it.” In the fall, when she started her job as an assistant professor at Evergreen Junior College, the subject she would be teaching was the History of the American West. Texas was a particular favorite. Because the story was so romantic, she had remembered the legend of Enchanted Rock.

“That’s pretty cool,” Wes said. “If it’s true.”

She could have given him dates and names, but she had talked too much already.

“I’m hungry,” she said a little too brightly. “What’s everyone having to eat?”

Dallas studied Patience Sinclair. P.J., Shari called her. There was something incongruous about the woman, had been from the start. She was from Boston. Enchanted Mountain was thousands of miles away. Yet he would bet his last dollar her story was true. Apparently, she was smarter than he gave her credit for.

The waitress appeared and everyone began to order.

“Shari says you’ve been here before.” Patience smiled at the group. “Anybody got any suggestions?”

A few seats down the table, Tammy spoke up. “We eat here whenever we’re in town. Why don’t you let us order for you?”

Patience closed her menu. “Thanks. That would be great.”

“How about a beer?” Wes asked.

“Better yet, how about a Prairie Fire?” Jade suggested. “The first time you come to the El Paquito, you have to drink a shot of tequila. It’s kind of a tradition.”

Dallas started to say something. He knew what was in a Prairie Fire and it wasn’t good. Down the table, Shari caught his eye. Looking resigned, she slowly shook her head, warning him to keep silent.

Patience was studying the others. He figured she could tell by the grins they tried to hold back that something was up. She turned and smiled at Jade. “Why not?”

Bottles of beer, icy margaritas, and a shot glass of tequila arrived, which the waitress set in front of Patience.

Everyone held up a glass. Dallas took a little longer raising his. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Patience Sinclair, but he hated to see anyone put to this kind of test.

“Welcome to rodeo,” Tammy said brightly.

“Down the hatch!” said Wes, taking a big swig of beer.

Patience lifted the shot glass. “Down the hatch,” she repeated and tossed back the drink.

Dallas’s teeth clenched in sympathy. A Prairie Fire was a shot of tequila with a dash of black pepper and the El Paquito’s famous Hotter-Than-Hot Sauce, made with jabenero chili peppers. Patience’s eyes filled with tears and her mouth opened and closed in an effort to drag in air, though none seemed forthcoming. Tears ran down her cheeks, which were the color of Tabasco, and she started to cough and wheeze. Grinning, Wes slapped her on the back while Tammy and the others fell over in gales of laughter.

It was a dirty thing to do to a greenhorn, but it really had become a sort of tradition.

“Bring her a glass of milk,” Dallas told the waitress, who raced away the minute she saw Patience’s empty drink.

“It’ll get better in a minute,” Dallas promised, though a minute with your entire body on fire felt more like an hour, as Dallas and the others knew firsthand.

She was still making a sort of wheezing noise, but the tears had finally stopped. Her water glass was empty, not that it had done a lick of good, but the milk seemed to help. Patience chugged the liquid and set the glass back down on the table, wiping her lips with a paper napkin.

When she spoke, her voice sounded hoarse. “Gee, guys, thanks a lot. That was really terrific, but I’m still kind of thirsty. Maybe I ought to have another one.”

The table erupted into hysterical laughter and even Dallas found himself smiling. She was a pretty good sport—for an easterner.

“One’s the house limit,” he said, and caught a flicker of gratitude in those pretty green eyes.

“Too bad,” she croaked. “Maybe next time.”

Shari was proud of her, he saw, beaming at Patience as if she had just won an endurance race. Wes and the barrel racer were grinning. Jade’s phony smile looked riveted in place.

She didn’t like Patience Sinclair. That definitely gave Ms. Boston a mark in the plus column, as far as Dallas was concerned.

He watched her off and on through supper. She intrigued him. No doubt about it. He wondered what her story was and made a mental note to find out. If he didn’t think there would be serious complications, he might not mind getting into P.J. Sinclair’s very snug, very well-filled-out jeans.

But he had a feeling there would be. Shari and Stormy had been casting long glances at each other all evening. Stormy and Dallas were hauling Shari’s horse, which meant Dallas and Patience were bound to be thrown together. With the Circle C problems and having to miss some of the bigger shows, Dallas needed more trouble like a hole in the head.

Fortunately, he didn’t think Patience felt the same unwanted attraction for him he was beginning to feel for her, which should have made him happy and somehow irritated him instead.

Dallas watched her scrape the hot sauce off her enchilada and take a tentative bite. A long string of yellow cheese slid past her lips and his groin tightened. Beneath the table, he went hard.

Damn woman.
She was definitely a temptation. Dallas was grateful he would be leaving for New Mexico as soon as tomorrow’s performance was over. Temptation was always easier to resist when it was kept well out of sight.

Shari was up and gone when Patience rolled out of her bunk the following morning. Her roommate had a horse to take care of and since she had been raised on a farm, she was pretty much a morning person. Shari came from Guymon, Oklahoma, a longtime, major rodeo town. With her dad’s coaching, she had started barrel racing when she was ten years old.

Fortunately, her father had insisted she finish high school before she started rodeoing full time. It was good she had. Last year, she had decided to continue her education, get at least a two-year degree then see what her options were.

Shari got up early, but Patience preferred to stay up a little later, then sleep till seven-thirty or eight, a routine which gave them both more room in the tiny RV.

It didn’t take long to shower and dress. Patience’s freshly laundered, now slightly faded jeans were a lot more comfortable, and, except during performances, instead of the stiff western shirts she’d been wearing, she wore scoop-necked cotton tops, cooler in the Texas heat.

Eager to get back to the research she had been doing before she left Boston, she ignored her contacts, pulled on a comfortable pair of tortoiseshell glasses and spent the morning at her computer. She worked an hour typing the mental notes she had made about the women rodeo contestants she had met, then dug out the information she had collected on early rodeo women, the very first
cowgirls,
the name they gave themselves way back then.

As a student of western history, Patience had read hundreds of articles about these pioneer women and studied dozens of photos. Like the barrel racers of today, they were flashy dressers, their bright satin embroidered shirts and split leather riding skirts outrageous by early nineteenth century standards. They wore bloomers, colored boots, big-roweled silver spurs, and extravagant, wide-brimmed, high-crowned hats that made the Stetsons of today look bland in comparison.

Often competing in the same events as men—riding broncs and bulls, calf roping, and running relay races, they were the feminists of their day, women like Kitty Canutt, Prairie Rose Henderson, Tillie Baldwin, and dozens of others.

Annie Oakley was one of the first, back in the Wild West Show days. Scores of women followed over the years. It was exciting to know that Patience’s great grandmother had actually been one of them.

Patience sat down and opened the faded tapestry cover of the journal. The pages were tattered and frayed and a number of them were missing. Though her cousin had never finished reading it, Betty believed there might be at least one more book, since this one seemed the continuation of a story already started.

Patience looked down at the faded blue writing. The first yellowed page was dated June 18, 1912. From Charity’s genealogical work, Patience knew Adelaide Holmes, at that time unmarried and using her maiden name, would have been eighteen.

Patience laughed. Maybe times hadn’t changed as much as she thought since 1912. For the next half hour, she continued reading the journal. Though the pages were loose, missing, and often not in order, the information was incredibly valuable to her work.