Heart of a Lawman Read online

  “I was rethinking your transportation situation,” he began.

  Her smile dimmed. “Too complicated, huh?” Her expression despondent, she glanced away. “Well, working for you was nice while it lasted. I guess that leaves me with some decisions to make.”

  Wondering what those decisions might be, Bart said, “You don’t understand. I figured another way to get you here. We’ve got a junker of a truck we don’t use for anything. Pa bought it a few months back for spare parts but hasn’t had time to strip it yet. The body’s rusting out, the tires are nearly bald, the starter’s a little tricky, but it still goes. While the weather holds, at least, it’d get you back and forth between Alcina’s and the ranch.”

  Bart found himself responding to Josie’s renewed smile in ways he didn’t want to consider too closely. He couldn’t let her get to him now or he’d never pull this off.

  “Sounds good,” she said.

  Steeling himself for what he had to do, Bart somehow wore his best poker face as he said, “You have a driver’s license, right?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then I’ll need to see it…for insurance purposes.”

  “Oh.”

  Bart waited.

  Trust, he thought—he wanted to be able to trust her. His spirits flagged as he watched her eyes closely. They grew shadowed with some internal weight, and he could practically see her wheels spinning.

  Still smiling, if looking a bit uncomfortable, she asked, “You don’t have to see my license right now, do you?”

  “Before you get behind the wheel of the truck, I do.”

  “You already let me drive one of your trucks yesterday when we rounded up the horses.”

  “But that was here on Curly-Q property.”

  “Right.” Those wheels were spinning even more rapidly. “I, uh, don’t have my license on me, though. It’s back at Alcina’s, somewhere in my bag.”

  Did that mean she didn’t have one—or that she did but under a different name? He wanted to ask her, to be direct. But more, he wanted the truth and he didn’t believe she was ready to give it up yet.

  So Bart found himself backing down. “Well, you can show it to me later, then.” He took one last shot. “It’s a New Mexico license, right?”

  She hesitated only a second before echoing him. “Right.”

  Nodding, Bart wondered what excuse she would use later when she couldn’t produce a New Mexico license. Or one with the name Josie Wales. She was lying to him. It seemed he couldn’t trust her, after all.

  “I need to be off,” he said coolly, already moving away from her. “I’m running up to Taos for supplies. Anything I can get you?”

  Glancing back, he was caught by her expression—for the moment, too open, too vulnerable. Then she shook herself, closed herself off from him.

  “I’ve got everything I need right now,” she said. “But thanks.”

  A disappointed Bart drove off, wondering if her real name would suit her nearly as well as the one she’d borrowed….

  EMMETT WATCHED out his bedroom window as Barton’s vehicle pulled out of the yard. The only other person he could see was that young woman his oldest had hired to work with the horses.

  She sat one pretty good, he decided, though he’d like nothing better than to see her off his place and fast. He wasn’t too old to recognize the signals when a man was sniffing around a female—he’d seen Barton’s posturing around the wrangler earlier and the day before, as well. That didn’t suit Emmett’s plans, at all. He wanted Barton to concentrate on Alcina Dale.

  That way, when the bank came a-calling for those back mortgage payments and they didn’t have the wherewithal to answer properly, he’d have leverage with her daddy. Tucker Dale had once been his partner. Now the old coot was too tied up in his fancy bank to remember the old days, when they’d been friends.

  But if Barton and Alcina were an item, Tucker would have to rethink his position. The banker might even be willing to make one of those back mortgage payments himself as a wedding present, Emmett mused. Tucker ought to be that grateful to any man who finally made an honest woman of his daughter—her biological clock running out, and all.

  He looked for Barton’s vehicle again and got a glimpse of it on the road out of the canyon just before it disappeared over the rim.

  “Finally, a man can have free reign on his own place for a while,” Emmett muttered and left his bedroom for his office

  Then, again, he’d put himself in this situation.

  It had all started with that danged letter.

  The phone rang, jolting him out of that dark memory, but Felice got it from some other part of the house.

  Sitting at his heavy wooden desk in his high-backed leather chair, Emmett opened his fancy cigar box with the ritual of a man who didn’t get to do what he wanted when he wanted any more. He pulled out a cigar, which he smelled and lit and puffed with a great deal of pleasure.

  But before he could get out to the barn and really enjoy himself taking charge with the hired help—firing her, that was—a knock at the office door stopped him.

  “Mr. Emmett? I know you’re in there. I can smell the cigar smoke.”

  “What is it, Felice? No more of your lectures.”

  “The phone—it’s for you.”

  “Got it.” He picked up the receiver. “Quarrels here.”

  “Mr. Quarrels,” came a female voice from the other end. “This is Lena Little Bird from Azure Skies Realty in Taos. I understand that you’re in the market to sell your—”

  “I’m not in the market now and never will be!” he shouted into the phone. “The Curly-Q is not some trade-in! Why can’t you people stop bothering me?”

  “I-I’m very sorry—”

  He slammed the receiver into its cradle before the woman could finish her apology.

  “Damn real estate agents!”

  He’d been waiting for this follow-up to the windmill’s needing major repair. After each incident had come a phone call…an inquiry as to whether the Curly-Q was for sale. The voices at the other end were always different—as were the realty companies involved. But the call always came.

  Another knock was immediately followed by the door swinging open. Felice was standing there, arms crossed, staring at his cigar disapprovingly. “Keep that up and…”

  “I don’t need to hear it!”

  Emmett wouldn’t take anything from anyone else. But Felice and him—well, they had an understanding. She was the only one he ever let boss him around. Probably because she was the only one who ever stuck it out. Her and Moon-Eye.

  “I have something on my mind,” she said, no-nonsense as usual. “You brought Mr. Bart back here to run this place—let him run it.”

  “What else have I been doing?”

  “Lulling him until he’s committed,” she said. “You made him a deal, now you stick with it. He’s got enough on his mind, what with those kids so unhappy and you dying and all.”

  They were at an impasse. Always smart enough to know when to back off, however, Emmett nodded. “Good enough.”

  There went his plans to fire Josie Wales. Barton wouldn’t like it and wouldn’t be afraid to say so. Then Felice would feel justified getting in on the act.

  Damn!

  “Well, don’t you have work to do?”

  Nodding, Felice stepped forward to take the cigar from his hand. “Starting with this.”

  Emmett sputtered but didn’t put words to his protest as she marched out the door, gingerly holding the cigar between two fingers to show him her distaste.

  Defiantly, he went back to the cigar box. But when he lifted the lid, a bit of ecru paper showing at the bottom distracted him.

  The letter.

  Hesitating only briefly, he picked it out from under the cigars and held it as carefully as he would a snake ready to strike.

  He remembered the fury that had filled him when he’d read the damn missive the first time. He’d crumpled it in his fist and had thrown
it away. But something had made him retrieve the paper from the waste basket before Felice had a chance to empty it. Something had made him smooth out the wrinkles and save the battered warning, setting it at the bottom of his cigar box because no one but him was allowed to touch the thing.

  He hadn’t believed the warning, of course. Not right away.

  But now, well…the noose was tightening.

  Emmett could only hope that he hadn’t waited too long.

  Chapter Nine

  All the way into Taos, Bart’s thoughts were filled with Josie Wales.

  Who was she? Why did she play so secretive?

  Most of all, why did he care?

  Taos was an amalgam of cowboy and Pueblo Indian, sophisticated artist and the occasional hippie left over from the seventies. A picturesque tourist mecca, but with a decent number of practical businesses away from the plaza, enough to make the forty-minute trip worth his while.

  As he ran his various errands, Bart tried to make sense of his interest in the mysterious woman.

  That he was attracted to Josie was a given. That she was in some kind of trouble was equally obvious—it just wasn’t in his nature to ignore trouble if he could do something about it. That he might be reading more into the situation than warranted his worry was a distinct possibility.

  And yet he couldn’t stop himself.

  A few hours later, the back of his four-by-four filled with supplies and groceries, Bart picked up Lainey’s processed film and decided to grab a fast lunch before heading back to the ranch. He chose a café just off the plaza. While waiting on his burger and fries, he took a look at his daughter’s latest photographs and was startled when he came to several of Josie working with the horses.

  But the one that made him stop and think was a full head-on shot, closer than the others. Josie’s features were crystal-clear, recognizable to anyone who’d ever seen her before.

  It didn’t take him long to decide.

  After gulping down his food without even tasting it, Bart set off to see an old friend in the Taos County Sheriff’s Department.

  Sheriff John Malone hadn’t changed much since Bart had worked with him years before, when he’d started his law enforcement career. A big man, Malone still had a hearty handshake and a killer smile beneath the familiar thick mustache. He suggested they grab some coffee in the back room where they had the place to themselves.

  “A rancher.” Malone shook his head as he poured two cups. “I don’t know. You can take a lawman out of the force, but you can’t take the instinct out of the lawman.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been talking to Pa. He wants me to run Silver Springs, as well as the Curly-Q.”

  “Not a bad idea. You can keep your hand in. Think about it. Maybe we can work out something. I’d have you work for me any day.”

  “I’m flattered.” Bart took the cup Malone offered him. “I’m afraid my hands are going to be full as it is. My brothers haven’t shown and I don’t know if they will. The ranch is on shaky ground, and I’m afraid that no matter how hard I try, we might still lose it.”

  “That’s tough to face. Too many ranches have gone under already.” Opposite Bart, Malone twirled a chair around and straddled the seat. “But I don’t expect you stopped by to ask my advice about cattle. So what’s going on?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could do me a favor.” From his shirt pocket, Bart pulled the photo of Josie. “Take a look at this. All I’m trying to do is ID her. Unofficially.”

  “Long story short?”

  “She’s working for me and I’m pretty sure she’s in some kind of trouble.” To Malone’s quizzical expression, he added, “She’s not talking—and wouldn’t explain if I asked her direct. She’d find a way to dance around the subject.” He took a slug of the coffee. “She calls herself Josie Wales.”

  Malone laughed. “Like in the Eastwood movie? The Outlaw Josie Wales?”

  “Yeah.” Outlaw… Bart’s gut clenched. “Like the movie.”

  “So it’s an alias.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it. I doubt she made it very far from where she started out. No vehicle. No money. And I’m pretty sure she was hurt sometime recently.”

  Malone nodded. “I’ll show the photo to the boys around here. And I can fax it to my contacts in other departments around this area of the state, if you want.”

  “Low profile.”

  “You bet. But I will make sure to tell them it’s a favor for one of their own.”

  In Bart’s heart, he still was. “I owe you, Malone.”

  The grin reappeared below the mustache. “And one of these days, I might even collect now that you’re in the neighborhood, hopefully for good.”

  Bart started off for home feeling more in control now that he’d decided to act on his gut instinct. But letting someone else do all the leg work didn’t sit well with him. He was like Pa in that way.

  Outlaw…was she?

  REBA’S CAFÉ was owned and operated by a middle-aged woman filled with good humor and draped in flowing garb as colorful as the turquoise-splashed adobe walls and purple trim. The place was cozy and cheerful if not fancy. Josie watched the smiling owner drift from booth to table, making sure her patrons had everything they needed.

  Every table and nearly every space at the counter was taken up at the supper hour—mostly men, hired hands with no woman to cook for them—so when the door chimes sang out, the cheerful noise pulled Josie’s attention to the entrance.

  In walked Hugh Ruskin.

  Every inch the predator, he slowly swept his gaze over the room. Until it hit Josie. Those nearly colorless, reptilian eyes swept from her to her companion and back to her where they bored in and held fast. For a moment, the rush of her hastened heartbeat filled Josie’s ears. And then the owner rushed to greet him, and Ruskin threw back his head in what Josie could only think of as silent amusement, his white buzz cut fairly bristling with mirth.

  Unnerved, she focused on her dinner plate.

  Intent on his steak, Bart didn’t seem to notice.

  She sat across from him in a booth set along the wall opposite the door. He’d insisted on taking her to Reba’s for dinner. He’d wanted a steak, he’d told her while driving her back to Alcina’s—something forbidden in Felice’s kitchen at the moment because of his father’s heart condition—and he’d wanted company. Hers. Hence the invitation that she absolutely could not turn down. His words.

  A famished Josie had quickly accepted with the provision that she be allowed a quick shower and a change of clothes. So far, she wasn’t sorry, but she knew she was going to have to keep up her guard with Bart.

  And now she had Hugh Ruskin to worry about. But when she glanced back across the room, she saw him sitting at the counter, his back to her.

  Relieved, she chowed down some more of her thick pork chop, home fries, pinto beans and warm flour tortilla.

  Swallowing a mouthful, she asked Bart, “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  “More of the same—moving cows so we can get them to the corrals where we can separate off the calves.” Bart cut a big chunk from what was left of his steak. “Considering the size of our herd, it’ll be a time-consuming process.”

  Josie watched the steak disappear into his mouth. She’d been spending an inordinate amount of time sneaking looks at the mouth that had kissed her, she realized. Lips so seductive she wanted to feel them again. Blushing at the thought, at the way it made her squirm inside, she was desperate to keep the conversation on work.

  Remembering he’d mentioned the possibility of hiring a couple of day workers, she asked, “Were you able to get more hands?”

  “Yeah—you and me.”

  A thrill shot through her at the new challenge, but, confident that she’d manage somehow, Josie nodded. “The horses are ready and eager to work and so am I.”

  “Good. My trust in you is well-deserved, then.”

  She shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. “Trust is important,” s
he mumbled, “especially for a lawman, I guess.”

  Which made her wonder how far he really did trust her…or would trust her if he knew about the stolen truck.

  That thought reminded her of the driver’s license she was supposed to produce.

  “It’s not the occupation that made me the way I am,” Bart was saying. “Life did that…along with Pa’s help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He always operated under his own agenda. Nothing wrong with that if you’re up-front with your intentions. But he enjoyed manipulation—situations or people, it was all the same to him as long as he got what he wanted in the end. When I decided I’d had enough, I left.”

  “That’s understandable, but you were bound to leave, anyway, right? To live your own life.”

  “I’ll never be sure of that.”

  Bart Quarrels not sure of something? Now, that surprised her.

  She glanced back toward Ruskin. She could see his reflection in the window. He seemed to be staring at something dead-on in the plate glass. Her? Even with his back turned, could he be watching her?

  Suppressing a shiver, Josie determined to ignore the man.

  “Bart, think about this,” she said. “If you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have met your wife, so something good came of your striking out on your own.”

  “A lot of good. And I have two great kids to remind me.” Bart’s words, so rich with pride, made Josie smile. Then his tone shifted to something sad and dark when he went on. “But if Sara had trusted me, everything would be different now.”

  Her smile faltered. “I—I don’t understand.”

  “She’d be alive.”

  That gave her pause. Had his wife been in some kind of trouble?

  “What happened?”

  “Sara had a big heart, especially when it came to kids. She hated that they didn’t all have safe homes and loving parents and enough to eat like Daniel and Lainey did. She started working with an organization that helped runaways—an organization that showed more care for the kids than for the law.”