Callahan's Gold (Southwest Desert Series Book 3) (6 page)

Someone had broken into her room and searched every item there! She backed out the door. Could the intruder still be hiding in the bathroom?

CHAPTER FIVE

Tory was panic-stricken. One person should know about this; only one person in Tombstone could help her! She had to get away and drove erratically.

She pounded frantically on the rickety trailer door. "Dodge! Dodge? Are you in there? Please, help me!"

"Tory, what's wrong?" He threw open the door, filling the framed space with his half-clad body. His masculine muscular form was outlined in huge relief by a backlight from a small lamp somewhere behind him. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"Oh, God, Dodge, I'm scared. I wasn't scared, even with all the things you showed me today. The gold mines that left deep holes in the ground and how the Indians knocked everybody off . . . Nothing bothered me . . . until. . . until now—" She halted in her hysterical rambling and breathed heavily.

"Come on in and slow down. Calm down, Tory. Tell me what happened." He pulled her inside and closed the door. His large hands gripped her arms, and he looked at her intently. She was pale and her lips were thin and slightly purple from panting.

Those beautiful blue eyes were wide with outright fear. She needed help, needed him. His eyes implored her. "Tory? Tell me! Get with it, here!"

She nodded silently and drew in a sobbing breath. "You're right. I'm out of control."

When her frightened eyes reached his, he could resist her no longer and pulled her firmly against his chest. Wrapping his long arms around her shivering slender form, he murmured soothing words and held her close for a little while.

She buried her face against his bare chest, grateful for the warm strength she found in him. He was solid and strong, a fortress she could trust, a man who knew what to do in the face of a crisis. A man whose masculine body fragrance accosted her senses, whose soothing words rumbled through her. Oh, God, she was clinging to Dodge's bare torso, and she had to be the one to break this embrace.

When she shifted in his arms, Dodge realized she was calmer. Calm enough to stand alone without his arms wrapped securely around her. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold, releasing her at her own pace, which was wonderfully slow. Just being that close to her was sheer torture for him. But he could do nothing about that now. She needed his security, not his passion.

"Now, tell me what happened."

"My room ... at the motel . . . has been wrecked. My things are everywhere, and the window—the window is open. Someone broke into my room! They're obviously looking for something, and they left the place in a terrible mess! I'm not even sure if they're gone!"

"You think they're still there?"

"I . . . don't know. Probably not. By now."

"Was anything taken?"

"I don't know."

"Did you call the police? Or the motel management?"

She shook her head. "Didn't take time. I was too afraid. Wanted to get out of there. I wanted you to know first."

"Good." He turned away and raked a huge hand through his already disheveled hair. "I need to think this through. Let's decide what to do here. Whether to call the police or not. Whether to do anything. Decide what this relates to."

"The gold, of course."

He looked at her quickly. Then a slow smile spread across his angular face. "Yep. I think you're exactly right. We probably should go back and see if they took anything—"

"I don't think so," she answered levelly. "There was nothing to take. Oh, they made a mess of my clothes, but I had no jewelry, no money. Everything's with me."

His dark eyes narrowed. "The map?"

She nodded and patted her purse. "Right here. But if this is what they're after, I don't want the damned thing. Please take it." She opened her purse and lifted the folded piece of paper.

"You sure you want me to be responsible for this?"

"Positive."

"I'll be glad to take the responsibility away from you, especially if you'll feel better about it."

"I will. Definitely."

He grinned with renewed appreciation and took the map. "You're beginning to get the hang of this, city lady. I think you've got a smart head on your shoulders."

"Well, it stands to reason. Everybody at the table—and probably everybody in town by now— knew a map was given to me and that I walked off with it in my purse."

"You aren't assuming that the guilty party is someone around that table yesterday at the reading of the will?"

She shrugged. "Well, who else?"

Again he raked his hand through his hair. "Hell, I don't know, but I can't see any of them doing such a thing. Why, they're Sharkey's closest friends."

"You said yourself gold does funny things to people, Dodge. Maybe the prospects of finding it changed one of them. Maybe he—or she—wants it all."

"Oh, no!" Dodge's objection boomed loudly in the small confines of the trailer, and he began to pace. "I'm not prepared to believe that anyone at that table is guilty of ransacking your room or is entertaining the notion of getting all the gold for himself. And"—he halted and pointed a finger at Tory—"and I refuse to believe that Ramona had anything at all to do with this! She . . . why, Ramona was crazy in love with the old coot! Don't you think that means anything?"

Tory turned her head away. "It didn't mean anything to my father when my mother was crazy in love with him."

There was a moment of uneasy silence, and Dodge moved to her. "Oh, God, Tory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—oh, hell. I keep forgetting . . ."

Her lips pressed together firmly. "I can't forget the past, Dodge. Sharkey may have been something close to a saint in the last few years of his life, but he wasn't anything like that to us. And I have a few doubts about some of his friends, too."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow and gave her a quizzical glance.

"Not you, of course, Dodge. You—you're different."

"Of course," he murmured, sighing heavily. "Let's drop the speculations now, while we're still speaking to each other, Tory. I think we should go over to your motel room and pick up the pieces."

"Do we have to go back there?"

He glanced at her and watched the fear return to her blue eyes. "Yes, we do," he repeated firmly. "I'll go with you and help you get your clothes. You can come back here for the rest of the night until we decide what to do next. Obviously, you don't feel safe enough to spend the night there again. And I don't want you to. If they could get in once, they can get in again."

"Where . . ." She halted and swallowed heavily.

"Right here." He aimed a thumb toward the back room. "You can sleep in there. I can bunk down on the sofa."

"Oh, Dodge, I can't take your bed."

He grinned. "You know you'll be safe here with me, Tory. I won't let anything happen to you."

She gave him a shaky smile. "Thanks, Dodge. I appreciate your generosity."

"Generosity has nothing to do with it. Sharkey's ghost would haunt me forever if I let anything happen to his little girl."

She stiffened. "So it's for Sharkey? I should have known."

"It's a joint effort," he conceded with a devilish grin. "But I couldn't let you spend a terror-filled night all alone back at that motel. I'll get a shirt, and we'll go survey the damage and gather your things."

As Dodge ambled into the back room, Tory noticed that he was barefooted. No cowboy boots. No shirt. Just hip-hugging jeans on his lean male figure. And darned sexy, too. Was she crazy, agreeing to come back here for the night? Could she trust this man—this man she didn't know at all? But he was Sharkey's trusted friend and partner. Didn't that mean anything? Since she couldn't depend on Sharkey, what made her think she could trust his right-hand man?

When Dodge appeared again, he wore a blue plaid western-cut shirt with those skin-tight jeans. But he'd put on his boots. He looked quite trustworthy . . . and ruggedly masculine.

"Ready to go?"

Tory nodded and knew immediately that she could trust the man. She didn't understand how she knew that, but she did. And she slid confidently beside him onto the Blazer's front seat.

Dodge searched through the ransacked motel room, picking up items at random, stepping over her scattered clothes. Tory stood in the corner, rubbing her arms with a feeling of foreboding she'd never before experienced. Dodge finally turned to her. "Let's get your stuff together here, Tory. Looks like a routine pilfering. Yep, he was looking for something, all right. And he didn't find it."

They worked quietly, Tory neatly folding blouses and slacks, Dodge crushing filmy panties and lacy bras into the corner of her suitcase. He tried not to think of her donning such frilly items. Curiously, he lifted a small hand barbell. "This yours?" he quizzed with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes," she answered defensively. "Helps keep me toned while I travel."

"Oh. Is that what does it?"

"Well, I don't have a chance to go to the spa and work out when I'm away from home."

"I see," he observed, tucking the barbell into her suitcase. "No wonder you're so well toned."

She gave him a sideways glance and continued packing without comment.

When they reached Sharkey's old trailer, Dodge hauled her suitcase into the back bedroom. Tory slumped on the sofa in the living room, staring off into space. "I can't believe this is happening to me," she muttered.

Dodge went into the kitchen and she heard glasses clinking. Then he was beside her, his arm extended. "Here, Tory. This'll help. A little Scotch."

She accepted the small glass with a weak smile. "Thanks, Dodge. You know, I'm not usually such a wimp. It just caught me off guard, and I got real scared all of a sudden."

"We just have to be careful in the future."

"I guess ..."

When they finished the drinks, he showed her the bathroom, hung up clean towels, and handed her a set of clean sheets. "This should be enough for tonight."

"It's more than enough, Dodge. And I promise not to be a bother again. Tomorrow I'll—"

"No, you won't. You're staying with me until this is over."

She drew up sharply. "Now listen here—"

"No argument, Tory. I feel responsible."

"To whom? Not to me! Why you never saw me before yesterday, so how could you feel responsible for me?"

"I'm responsible to Sharkey," he said, winking. "I told you, if I let anything happen to you, he'll haunt me forever. Don't worry, Tory. I'll take care of any intruders. You just go to sleep and try to forget everything that's happened." With that, Dodge wheeled around and turned his attention to fixing his bed on the sofa.

She prepared to launch another protest, but when he peeled off his boots and shirt and unsnapped his jeans, Tory thought better of the idea. Shoving the bedroom door shut, she decided she could wait until tomorrow for any further objections to this arrangement.

As she began to unbutton her blouse, she realized that Dodge was in complete charge of the situation and she had put him there. He was making her decisions for her, directing her next move. It had been a damn long time since a man had made her decisions, and she intended to get back in control again. First thing in the morning.

Quickly, she began stripping the bed to apply clean sheets. In the pale light, she noticed a small dark object beneath the head of the mattress and reached for it.

To her horror, Tory drew out a heavy black revolver. Inlaid on the wooden handle was a turquoise star. Distinctive, yet frightening. "Dodge!"

Instantly, he burst through the door and stood beside her, dressed only in his briefs. "What is it? Did you hear something?"

She turned to face him and lifted the trembling hand holding the ominous weapon. "Is—is this how you would take care of any intruders?" At the moment, she was too alarmed to notice his state of dress. Or undress.

His large hand closed briefly on hers as he casually removed the gun from her hand. "Oh, yes, my thirty-eight. Forgot to get it." He turned his back and took a step.

"Dodge?"

He turned back around, and this time she noticed how he was dressed. He wore only a pair of dark-colored briefs. Navy. Oh, dear heavens, navy briefs with seams outlined in white. And his package was bulging!

She tore her eyes away from his body and tried to pretend it didn't matter. Why, she saw men in similar attire at the spa all the time. So what made this cowboy different from any other well-formed, muscular, virile, tanned . . . man? Oh, dear, he was different. And the things he did to her insides were disastrous!

Dodge gazed at her levelly. "Yes, Tory, that's how I would handle any intruder, if I had my weapon within my reach. Unless you want to keep it?"

"Y—you would shoot someone?" She stared at him incredulously, forcing her eyes on his. They were brown and warm and amazingly sexy.

She shook herself. It was just because those gorgeous eyes were attached to a gorgeous male body and she was extremely weak at the moment.

"I'm a crack shot, Tory. I'd aim for the leg. Or shoulder."

"Oh, my God!" She sank down on the edge of the unmade bed and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, dear, Dodge! What—what kind of place is this? Have I stepped back in time to the old Wild West? Or south L.A. I don't think I belong here."