Something More (13 page)

Angie laughed at Dulcie's reaction, then challenged lightly, “Why not?”

“Because—” Dulcie groped for an explanation, then settled for the single word she had already spoken. “Besides, his hair is always dirty and yucky.”

“Then tell him how nice it looks when it's clean.”

“Maybe.” Tired of talking about Tommy Foster, Dulcie sought to change the subject by grabbing a chunk of hair from her ponytail and drawing it forward to studiously examine its long, pale strands. “The color
is
kinda like moonbeams,” she concluded, then lifted her gaze to Angie's hair, a wistful quality entering her expression. “But I still wish it was curly like yours.”

Angie threw her head back and laughed, a sound that was spontaneous and warm. A glimmer of hurt feelings appeared to dull Dulcie's eyes. Before she could retreat into her shell of silence, Angie explained, laughter still in her voice, “You aren't going to believe this, Dulcie, but when I was younger, I used to iron my hair so it would be straight like yours.”

Dulcie's eyes popped wide with astonishment. “Why would you want it to be straight?”

“Because that was the popular style. But, after burning myself with the iron a couple of times, I realized that not only was it too much work, but it was also too dangerous trying to make my hair be something it was never meant to be. So, I decided to accept that it was red and curly—that it wasn't going to change and that I might as well enjoy it just the way it is. I'm a lot happier now.”

Dulcie studied her own hair again. “Maybe I could do that.”

“I'll bet you can,” Angie told her. “I'll bet you can do anything you set your mind to do.”

There wasn't an ounce of shyness or self-doubt in the smile Dulcie beamed at Angie. “I could, couldn't I? I mean, I did get that yellow kitten to finally let me pet her.” Without a pause, she made the jump to her next subject. “I thought I might call her Sunshine, 'cause she's yellow like sunshine. Don't you think that would be a good name for her?”

“It sounds like a perfect name. But I'd wait a while before I'd try to pick her up again if I were you.” Angie tapped an admonishing finger on the tip of Dulcie's nose, a gesture that was full of affection and one that, like this scene, resurrected old memories for Luke. The painful kind.

He released the door, letting it swing shut with a little bang that slammed the one in his mind. Both Angie and Dulcie turned to face him with a start of surprise. Dulcie's smile vanished at the sight of him, a look of dejection stealing through her expression.

Stung by her reaction to him, Luke narrowed his eyes to make a sharp sweep of her arms. “Got the scratches all cleaned up, I see.”

“That's right.” Angie stood up and returned the first-aid kit to its proper place on the pantry shelf.

He looked pointedly at Dulcie. “Maybe next time you'll remember those kittens are wild.”

Head bowed, she mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

But he knew she wouldn't. She'd already given the kitten a name. Sunshine. But he couldn't remind her of that without revealing how long he'd been standing inside the door listening to them—something he was reluctant to do.

“Since Tobe hasn't shown up yet, I'll give you a ride back to town whenever you're ready to go,” he said to Angie, in an abrupt change of subject.

“I'm ready now.”

“Good.” He took a step toward the door.

“You'd better run and put on a clean top before we go, Dulcie,” Angie told her. “You have blood on that one.”

Dulcie's eyes widened in surprise. “Am I going with you?”

Startled by the question, Angie shot a confused glance at Luke, then answered, “Of course you are. You can't stay here on the ranch by yourself. Now, scoot.”

Dulcie glanced uncertainly at Luke as if expecting him to object. In that instant, she looked young and vulnerable, much too young to be left alone even if Tobe should return five minutes after they left.

“You heard her—scoot,” Luke said, his reply echoing Angie's, and Dulcie took off for her room like a cannon shot. Luke watched her a moment, then cast a bemused sideways glance at Angie. “What kind of a spell have you cast over her?”

“Spell?” She looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

He wanted to comment on Dulcie's new animation and liveliness, but that sounded vague—and a little silly. Discarding that explanation, he chose another. “I overheard some of your conversation earlier,” he admitted. “I've never heard Dulcie talk so much before.”

Angie held his gaze for a long, silent second. Then her lips curved in a faint smile. “Maybe she doesn't do much talking because nobody takes the time to listen.” She used a gently suggestive tone rather than a judgmental one. But it still hit its target.

“Ouch,” Luke reacted, with a mock wince.

She laughed, and the sound had the same enveloping warmth and spontaneity that he'd heard in it before with Dulcie, the kind that was meant to be shared. He felt the pull of it—and of her. He wanted to catch her up in his arms and spin her around, pull off that ridiculous ball cap, and bury his hands in that mass of long red hair and find out if those lips were as kissable as they looked.

But he put a brake on such thoughts, fully aware it wouldn't stop with just a kiss.

“I'd better leave a note for Tobe so he doesn't wonder where Dulcie is when he comes back.” When he crossed to the counter to tear off a sheet from the scratch pad by the telephone, Dulcie dashed breathlessly into the kitchen, the red top exchanged for a clean but slightly wrinkled blue one.

“I'm ready,” she announced.

“That was quick.” Angie smiled in approval.

“We'll go just as soon as I finish this note to your brother.” Luke glanced up from his hastily scribbled message and noticed the hairbrush in her hand. “What's that for?”

“I've got straw in my hair,” Dulcie explained, self-consciously touching her ponytail. “I thought I'd brush it out in the truck so you wouldn't have to wait for me.”

“Good idea.” Luke nodded absently and signed the note, then carried it to the table and placed it in plain sight. “We're all set. Let's go.”

As the two filed ahead of him toward the door, the entire scenario seemed too much like a family outing for Luke to be comfortable with it.

T
he first few miles were covered in silence, with Luke keeping all of his attention on the road. Beside him in the seat, Dulcie had freed her hair from its elastic band and dragged it all in front of her. Stroke after methodical stroke, she ran the brush through her hair. The last wisp of straw had long since been removed, yet she continued to comb the bristles through it, all the while studying the way it had begun to glisten.

Glancing at Angie, she whispered with barely suppressed excitement, “It kinda shimmers like moonbeams, doesn't it?”

“Definitely.” Angie's smile of agreement was quick and warm, reaching all the way to her eyes. “Here.” She reached for the brush, the ponytail twister wrapped around the handle of it. “Let me put it in a ponytail for you.”

Dulcie passed her the brush, then turned sideways in the seat, as much as the seat belt would allow, and presented her back to Angie. With practiced ease, Angie gathered up the long, straight hair and began smoothing it into place with the brush.

“Do you really know where that gold is buried, Angie?” Dulcie asked unexpectedly. “Tobe says you do.”

“I'm afraid your brother is wrong this time.” Angie softened her words with a smile. “I wish I could walk right to the spot and pick it up, but I can't.”

Dulcie, lost in a daydream, gazed at the pickup's worn seat cushion. “I wish I could find that gold.” The fervency in her voice was moving.

“What would you do with it if you found it?” Angie wondered curiously.

In answer, Dulcie asked, “Do you think there would be enough gold to get a ranch for Tobe and a house for me?”

“Probably. Is that what you want? A house?” With the twist tie she made the first wrap to secure Dulcie's ponytail.

Dulcie nodded. “A home that's just ours. Nobody else's. That's not wrong, is it?” she asked, suddenly uncertain.

“Of course it isn't,” Angie assured her. “Everybody likes to feel they belong somewhere.”

“Gold.” A sardonic humor curled through Luke's voice and glittered in the glance that ricocheted off Angie. “Now, you've got
her
dreaming about finding it.”

“There's nothing wrong with dreaming.” She pulled Dulcie's hair through the last wrap and arranged the long tail to hang smooth and straight.

“There are dreams, and then there are pipe dreams.” Luke reduced the pickup's speed as they approached the collection of buildings that comprised the town of Glory. “That gold is a pipe dream.”

But his negative attitude had no effect on her. Smiling easily, Angie murmured a confident-sounding, “We'll see.”

“You certainly will,” Luke countered, his amused tone as dry as the roadside dust. As he braked to make the turn into the parking lot of the Rimrock Bar & Grill, his glance flicked to the two pickups already there. “Now we know where Tobe and Fargo are.”

The tavern door opened, and out piled Ima Jane with Tobe, Fargo, and Griff crowding close behind her, all of them clearly in a hurry.

“I wonder where the fire is?” Luke cocked a puzzled glance at the group.

“You don't suppose there is one?” Angie's glance raced over the building's roofline, searching for smoke.

Their attention focused elsewhere, the group led by Ima Jane was halfway to the parking lot before they saw Luke's truck pull in.

As one, they instantly changed directions and converged on it, forcing Luke to stop in the middle of the lot.

Luke stuck his head out of the window. “What's the problem?”

Ignoring him, Ima Jane went straight to the passenger side, her expression a study of concern. “I'm so glad you're back, Angie,” she declared. “Tobe saw somebody messing around your camper.”

“My camper?” Angie repeated in disbelief.

“When?” Luke fired the question at Tobe.

“Just now—when I was driving in.”

“Who was it?”

“I don't know,” Tobe admitted. “I only got a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye when I pulled in.”

“Tobe thinks the guy was trying to break into your camper. We were on our way to investigate and make sure everything was okay,” Ima Jane inserted. “You'd better come with us, Angie,” she urged.

In a slight daze, Angie reached for the door handle. “But why would anybody want to break into my camper?” she argued in confusion. “There's nothing in it but my clothes and some snacks.”

“After all this talk about the gold and Wilson's letter, you have to ask why?” Luke mocked in amazement and switched off the engine while simultaneously reaching for the driver-side door.

An agitated Ima Jane waited for Angie as she climbed out of the truck. She paused to hold the door for Dulcie as she scrambled out of the passenger side, all agog over this frantic flurry of activity and its cause.

“You did lock your camper when you left, didn't you?” Ima Jane hurried after the men already bound for Angie's pickup camper.

“I'm sure I did. It's almost automatic.” Walking swiftly to keep pace with the woman, Angie dug the key to the camper from her purse.

By the time she reached the camper, the others were already there. Before she could insert the key, Luke tried the knob. It turned under his hand, the latch clicking.

“You can forget the key,” Luke told her, pulling the door open.

“I could have sworn I locked it,” Angie frowned in bewilderment, then glanced at Tobe. “You saw me, didn't you?”

“I don't know if you locked it or not.” He shrugged his lack of knowledge. “I wasn't paying any attention.”

Luke inspected the dead-bolt lock. “Were these scratches here before?”

Bending closer, Angie studied the small metal scars around the keyhole. “I'm not sure.” She regretted that she hadn't taken the time to notice such details when she borrowed the camper.

“Hadn't you better check and see if anything's been stolen?” Fargo suggested.

“I guess I should,” Angie agreed, conscious of the uneasy flutterings in her stomach.

When Luke swung the door open for her, she took a step forward. Griff shouldered his way in front of her. “I'll go first and make sure nobody's hidin' in there.”

That possibility hadn't even occurred to her. She stopped in her tracks, offering no protest when Griff hauled himself into the camper.

“I'll come with you.” Hitching up her skirts, Ima Jane climbed in after her husband.

“Me, too.” Tobe crammed in behind her.

Smiling grimly, Luke opened the door wider and waved Fargo toward its high steps. “You might as well go in, too, and give Beauchamp another set of fingerprints to sort through.”

“No, thanks.” Fargo remained where he was, his mouth quirked in a wry smile, and held up the metal pincer hook that served as his left hand. “Besides, this claw of mine doesn't leave fingerprints.”

The camper shell rocked and groaned with the shifting movements of its occupants. From inside came the sounds of bathroom and closet doors opening and closing, curtain hoops scraping across rods, and the odd thump without an identifiable cause. Somehow Griff managed to squeeze past the others and appear in the doorway.

“If there was anybody in there, they're gone now.” He swung to the ground and turned back to give Ima Jane a hand out of the camper.

“I'm not sure, but I think someone has definitely been in there,” she told Angie. “But you're the only one who can tell for sure.”

Angie waited until Tobe emerged, then climbed into the camper. Her eye went first to the blanket and sheets hanging loose from the mattress in the cab-over bunk. All had been neatly tucked under when she had returned to the camper before church and lingered long enough to make up the bed.

Then she noticed the family scrapbook lying on the table of the recessed dining nook. It had been stowed in the overhead cupboard along with her area maps. The folder with those same maps now lay on a seat cushion. Angie was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she hadn't left them there.

Last night she'd been too tired to do more than undress and crawl into bed. This morning, there hadn't been time.

Knowing that someone had been in the camper gave her an eerie feeling, one Angie found difficult to describe. Something told her she wouldn't sleep as soundly tonight as she usually did.

A check verified that her clothes were still in the closet and the few items of jewelry she'd brought with her were still in the drawstring bag tucked in her cosmetic case. Other than those things, she had left nothing of value in the camper.

All eyes were fastened on her when Angie returned to the doorway. “Well? Was I right?” Ima Jane prodded her with the question.

“Yes. Someone's been in here,” Angie replied, still distracted by the discovery. And disquieted by it, too. “But nothing seems to be missing.”

Griff's eyes narrowed on her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stepped down from the camper.

“What about Wilson's letter?” Fargo wondered. “Are you positive that wasn't taken?”

“Gracious!” Ima Jane pressed a hand to her heart in a gesture of shock. “I hadn't even thought of that.”

“Don't worry. I still have it.” Angie patted her shoulder bag. “It's right here in my purse.”

“That's a good thing,” Ima Jane declared in relief. “I know it's only a copy of the original, but I'm glad it wasn't stolen just the same.”

Was that what they were after?
Angie wondered, then decided she didn't want to know the answer to that. Inadvertently she glanced at Luke, and the grimness of his expression seemed to confirm her own unvoiced suspicions.

“It's time we called Beauchamp and reported this,” he announced.

“Nothing was taken,” Angie said, as a kind of protest. There was a part of her that didn't want to treat any of this too seriously. And involving the police would do exactly that.

“Breaking and entering is still a felony,” Luke reminded her.

Still reluctant, Angie shook her head. “Just the same, there's no sense in bothering the sheriff on a Sunday. I have to meet with him tomorrow anyway. I'll tell him about it then.”

“Have it your way.” But there was a definite edge to his voice.

“Imagine someone breaking into your camper. And in broad daylight, too.” Ima Jane all but tsked in disapproval, then gasped loudly, struck by a sudden thought. “Were any blankets or food missing, Angie? Did you notice?”

“No, I . . . I never even checked—”

Luke interrupted her answer. “If you're thinking it might have been Saddlebags, you're wrong,” he told Ima Jane. “We saw him this afternoon at the Ten Bar. And unless he can sprout wings, he couldn't have made it into town ahead of us—not on foot.”

“It was a thought.” Ima Jane looked a little disappointed that it had turned out to be a wrong one. But she was quick to shake it off and send a bright-eyed glance around the group. “Now that the excitement's over, why don't we all go back inside and have some coffee.” Compassion warmed the look she gave Angie. “You look like you could use some.”

Angie smiled back. “You're right. I could.”

“Count me out,” Luke said. “I need to get back to the ranch.” He half turned to leave, then noticed Dulcie. “Are you riding with me or coming back with your brother?”

“With Tobe.” Her upward glance never quite made it to his face.

When the others started toward the tavern, Angie lingered. Ima Jane paused. “Aren't you coming?”

“In a minute,” she promised. “I need to talk to Luke about something first.”

“What do you need?” he asked when the others moved away. But he didn't turn to face her, his expression oddly aloof, without its usual hint of amusement.

After a brief hesitation, Angie made her request. “You indicated earlier that you could locate the site of the shoot-out with the posse on the map I have. I wonder if you could take a few minutes and do it now.”

Luke didn't hesitate at all. “Maybe another time. I've got evening chores waiting for me back at the ranch.”

“You're upset about something.” She was certain of that. “What?”

He regarded her in wry amazement, his mouth twisting in a lazy smile. “Why do you think someone broke into your camper?”

“I'm not sure.” When she remembered the maps and the family scrapbook, honesty made her add, “They might have been looking for the letter.”

“Give the teacher an A,” he mocked in a droll voice.

“But they didn't get it,” Angie reminded him, touching her purse again. “I have it right here.”

“And who knows that?”

“You, Ima Jane, T—”

“Enough said.” He swung toward his truck, then pivoted back. “Do yourself a favor, and don't leave that letter in your purse. And wherever you end up putting it, make sure you're the only one who knows it. Either that or post the damn thing on a wall inside the Rimrock. Which would be the safest thing to do.”

He turned on his heel and walked off, little puffs of dust rising with each strike of his boots on the graveled lot. Her gaze followed him, lingering on his long and lanky frame, a rider's narrow hips tapering out to wide shoulders. Angie smiled to herself, secretly pleased by the discovery that his irritation was rooted in a concern for her safety. Something told her he didn't want to care, which further irritated him that he did.

That was something Angie understood. Being attracted to the owner of the Ten Bar Ranch had never been part of her plans for this trip. But that fact was becoming more and more difficult to ignore.