Sweet Talking Lawman (15 page)

“For real?”  Raale
turned and stroked the mare’s nose again.  “I can ride her?”

“With your mom, for now,” he
reminded her.  “When you get comfortable cantering, then you can ride her
by yourself some.”

He followed the pair out so
he could watch as the mare and the small girl approached the old machine shed
where Mesa was.  The machine shed had been vacated of machines to make
room for tables and chairs and a special ramp that lifted Rance and a few
friends who chose to sit with him, onto a platform high enough to see into the
arena with ease.  He watched as Mesa spotted their child and then turned
to look at him.  He nodded at her before turning to go to his rig and
mount Dollar.

Slowly, he warmed the gelding
up, walking, trotting and loping circles in the arena, talking to other ropers
going through the same ritual.  It was important to make sure their mounts
were warmed up, the animal’s muscles stretched and supple, but it was a social
time as well.  Even while he bull-skated with the other ropers, his eyes
kept skittering back to Mesa and Raale riding the stocky palomino mare around
outside the arena.  His chest tightened with pride at the sight. 
They looked beautiful and he couldn’t repress a sudden surge of
possessiveness.  He frowned.  Yes, Raale was his, but Mesa?

Jenny and Heather had been
drafted to work the announcer’s stand when Jenny wasn’t heeling and Beth had
been given the job of keeping time.  The competitors would take turns
working the gates.  It was a casual affair where everyone pitched in and
it was always accompanied by good natured heckling.  Practically every
roper teamed up with every other roper, and the event went well into the late
afternoon.

The air was heavy with the
smell of beef and pork being turned over the spit with Bob making a point of
overseeing the process.  Rafe chuckled when he spotted his dog following
the old man’s every step, making sure he was available each time Bob carved a
small sample of meat for a quick taste test, just in case something
dropped.  Bob being Bob, he usually managed to drop a tidbit for the
bulldog.

Just before dark, the winning
team was announced and Rafe as header and Levi as heeler claimed second place
money, just barely one tenth of a second slower than Russ and Levi.  Only
a few people left, the others securing their horses to the sides of their
trailers with hay bags provided for them to munch on. The hungry crowd gathered
beneath the machine shed to eat the tender beef and pork that had been
tantalizing every nose for hours, as it slowly cooked over the spit.

Rafe was still listening to
Levi brag about taking first and second money as a heeler until Trish joined
them and his deputy’s cocky banter dropped to become soft, sweet words spoken
into the young woman’s ear.  Rafe took Raale’s hand and walked through the
serving line with her, making sure that she accepted a serving of the freshly
made coleslaw, as well as the ribs and beans.  His own plate was heaping
when the two of them returned to the table to find the only places left were between
Mesa and Jory.  Raale slipped in beside Jory and began telling him about
the cakes she’d spotted on the other end of the serving line.  Rafe tossed
Spur one of the ribs from his plate and watched the dog carry it to a grassy
patch between the shed and the arena where he settled down to enjoy it.

Left with no choice, Rafe
stepped across the bench and lowered his frame into the space beside
Mesa.  He could already feel his heart rate increasing as he squeezed into
the space.

Mesa hadn’t seen the two of
them return, but when he settled onto the bench beside her, she was instantly
aware of the heat radiating from his body.  She turned to look at him and
although he managed a smile, she experienced the shock of pure, smoldering
sexual longing.  He’d shed the western shirt he’d worn during the day and
a snug black t-shirt stretched across the muscles of his chest.  Her
appetite evaporated.  She tamped down the curl of lust that stirred
restlessly in the pit of her stomach.

In order to conceal his
unease, Rafe ate.  He tried not to think about how fresh she smelled,
sitting so close to him that their legs were pressed snugly together from their
hips almost to their knees.

Finally, he gave it up for a
lost cause.  All the food in the world couldn’t make him stop thinking
about how enticing Mesa smelled, how good she’d always tasted.  He pushed
his plate away and appeared to rivet his attention on the conversation that
Jory and Raale were having.  His leg moved, his calf rubbing sensuously
against Mesa’s.  He couldn’t help wondering if she was as affected by
their unusually close proximity as powerfully as he was, and if she wasn’t he
wanted to make sure she was.

Mesa almost dropped the
plastic container of tea she held in her hand when Rafe’s leg began rubbing
against hers, like a cat twining against the corner of the kitchen
cabinet.  She swallowed and turned to look at him.  He was grinning
at something Raale was saying, appearing to on-lookers, completely oblivious to
the fact that he was raising her heart rate with so little effort.  Fine,
she decided, if he wanted to go that route, she’d certainly show him she knew
the trail as well as he did.  She shifted slightly, raising herself up,
leaning toward him.  She placed one hand on his shoulder, her fingers
aware of the heat of his body through the thin black t-shirt beneath them and
lifted a leg behind her and over the bench.  As her leg lifted, it caused
her to lean further over, her breasts almost in his face.  She looked down
to find him looking up at her, his eyes flashing with amber lights. 
“Sorry,” she chortled innocently.  “It’s almost impossible to get up
without getting in your lap.”

He steadied her with one
strong hand going to her waist for support.  “That could get real
interestin’,” he shot back at her, his voice sounding sexy and rough.

Her hand on his shoulder
lingered just a moment longer than necessary as did his hand on her
waist.  “I’m going to get Raale a piece of cheesecake.  Can I bring
you anything?”  The black material of his shirt enhanced the chocolate
eyes and ebony brows that were arched at her.  He’d always looked so good
in a black t-shirt.

He grinned.  “I’d love a
piece.”

The roughness of his voice
left little doubt in her mind what he was insinuating, but she managed to smile
sweetly.  “How about pie?  I understand Mrs. McFarland makes a
wonderful pie, just full of bull.”

Rafe’s chuckle was genuine
and he nodded.  “Whatever you bring Raale will be fine for me.”  When
she started to walk away he caught her hand.  “I’m usually very hard to
please, but I’m willin’ to bet that you won’t have any trouble rememberin’ what
I like.”

She pulled her hand away and
headed for the dessert table, her knees feeling slightly weak and her heart
racing like a colt in the Kentucky Derby.  She did remember what he liked
and with that memory she was immersed in a feeling of warmth.  Damn
him!  He knew just how to turn her into a bowl of slush, with just a touch
and a couple of innuendos.

She thought she’d been
standing for only a minute, seeming to look over the desserts available, and
then a hard masculine shoulder brush against the back of her shoulder.

“I decided I’d come help
you.  You looked like you were havin’ trouble makin’ up your mind,” Rafe
spoke softly.  He was so close to her that she could feel the heat of his
body as he leaned over her, scanning the table.  “If memory serves me, you
really like….lemon cream pie.”  He leaned over her, his chest pressing
against her, as he picked up a small paper plate with a generous slice of her
favorite.  “What’s Raale’s favorite?”

Mesa’s breath caught in her
throat.  “Cho—chocolate.  Anything chocolate.”

He grinned.  “Like me,
huh?”

She nodded.  “In a lot
of ways.”

His face lost all trace of
humor as his eyes held hers.  “I…uh..,” he started, but behind him Levi
spoke.

“You two are holding up the
line.”

Rafe’s head swiveled and he
shot his deputy a heated look.  “Take a deep breath and wait your turn,
Levi.  Two things you don’t rush.  Do you know what they are?”

Levi shrugged.

“A woman is one; your boss is
the other and you’re toein’ the line pretty close here, on both counts,” Rafe
informed him.

A grin split Levi’s wide
mouth.  “You’re just grumpy because you only got second place in the
roping.”

Mesa picked up a piece of
chocolate cheesecake for Raale as Rafe returned his attention to the
table.  “Would you grab me one of those, too?  I’ll get us forks,” he
said.

Soon Bob got the hands busy
cleaning up.  Food disappeared into huge ice chests and in practically no
time, the band began to tune up their instruments.  They were on a small
stage that had been prepared ahead of time, midway between the rows of tables
that were arranged along the outside edges of the machine shed.  A crude
dance floor had been built but had been propped up against the end of the big
shelter to protect the bar-b-cue pit from any wind or rain, if that
happened.  It was now moved into the middle of the sheltered space and
placed down, flat atop the dry, sandy ground.  The band struck up a lively
tune, and soon the dance floor was in heavy use.

With all the rib bones he’d
been given and dropped bites of food he’d retrieved from the ground, Spur’s
stomach was stuffed.  He was stretched out broadside on the patch of grass
he’d chosen for the evening, his droopy eyes languidly watching the activities,
content to observe.

Rafe and Mesa still sat in
their crowded space although it wasn’t quite as crowded now.  Raale and
Rusty were attempting to show the older folks some steps they’d learned
watching television and a few of the other children had joined in.  After
the first song ended, Raale ran over to her mother.

“Sing for us, Mom. 
Please?” the child encouraged.

Mesa shook her head. 
“This is Uncle Rance’s night.  Let’s just listen to the music.”

Rafe stood up and then pulled
her to her feet.  “Sing for us, Mesa,” he encouraged loudly. 
Immediately some of the others took up the request and it became a chant.

Finally, she nodded; pulled
off the cap she’d been wearing all day and raked her fingers through her thick
dark hair.

She walked to the stage and
conferred briefly with the members of the band, and an extra guitar was passed
to her, before she turned around and looked across the space toward the raised
platform where Rance sat with a few of his closest cronies.

She removed a microphone from
its stand and held it to her mouth.  “I just happen to know that Uncle
Rance’s favorite singer was a country music artist with as much writing talent
as singing talent.  Don Williams had one of those voices that no one else
ever sounded anything like.  He became one of my favorite singers, as
well.  Now, I know I can’t sound like him, but I’d like to sing one of his
songs for Uncle Rance.”  She nodded to the musicians and began the
plaintive words of one of the singers big hits;
Till the Rivers All Run Dry
.

When it came to an end she
blew kisses to Uncle Rance and then smiled at her small audience.  “But
right now, I don’t think we are worried about our rivers running dry.” 
The entire gathering laughed, thinking how close the nearby river was to
reaching flood stage.  “And now, I’d like to sing one of my favorite
songs.”  The music started and she began to sing a ballad that she’d
recorded several years before. 
Desperado
was a song that had been
successful for several artists, and it had been one of Mesa’s biggest
hits.  It was a song she she’d always loved no matter who sang it.

Rafe listened to the words
but before it was half way through, he left the group and sought the stillness
of the barn.  He could still hear the words of the song and they tugged at
his heart.  The first time he’d heard the song on the radio he’d
recognized Mesa as the singer and her voice touched a place deep inside
him.  She must have been carrying Raale when she recorded the song and he
didn’t know why, but to him it seemed she was singing the words for him. 
But it was Mesa who’d been afraid of coming down from her mountain.

Before he’d completed his
assignment in Branson, he knew she’d slipped into his heart in a way no woman
ever had.  He’d asked her to come back to Oak Ridge and wait for him to
complete the debriefing he’d have to undergo after the undercover operation
ended.  He’d planned to resign from the Marshal’s Service and return to
Oak Ridge, marry Mesa and take over the family ranch.  The Lord knew how
Uci wanted him to come home and settle down.  He wasn’t expecting the flat
refusal she’d given.

“I can’t live there,
Rafe.  Ever.  Stay here with me.  Jory and you and I can make
Howell’s Hideaway a place that every tourist that hits town will have to
visit.”  Mesa’s voice was laced with anger and bitterness when she spoke
of Oak Ridge.  “I’ll go anyplace else with you, but just don’t ask me to
live near Oak Ridge.”

Living anywhere else had
never been a possibility for Rafe.  His roots were there, his family, all
the things that he’d ever held dear were tied to that small community. 
Everything except Mesa.  Nothing he said caused her to even waver in her
refusal, and Rafe knew he could never live anywhere else.  He gave serious
thought to trying, but knew that the only place he could ever be truly happy
was the ranch there in Oak Ridge where he’d grown up, the ranch where his
parents were buried, in the country where his ancestors had ranged for
generations, the ranch where Uci lived, just waiting for him to come home and
take over.