Renee Simons Special Edition (41 page)

“Patience, my fanny.” Grinning wickedly, she twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. “I’ve had patience. I’ve run out.”

He laughed with joy as she bracketed his hips with her legs. Just then, a fist pounded on the front door, bringing their lovemaking to a heart-stopping, mind-numbing halt. A gravelly voice shouted something unintelligible seconds before heavy boots crossed the veranda and thumped down the steps.

Callie slipped on a caftan and dashed downstairs. By the time she opened the door the intruder was gone. In his wake, he'd left a reminder of his presence with a can of spray paint. TRAMP! he'd written. LEAVE THIS VALLEY — NOW! A trail of paint at the bottom of the exclamation point faded out like the disappearing tail of a comet.

Shocked by the inscription, Callie hunkered down to stare at the words. She rested her arms on her thighs and clasped her hands in front of her. Once before an even more vicious version of that word had been flung at her. Unjust though it had been, it had sent her running all the same. She didn't want to fold again, but the graffiti stung. Who hated her this much?

Chilled from either the unresolved emotions she and Luc had aroused or the anonymous attack, she wrapped her arms around herself.

At her side now, Luc followed her gaze. "Don't let this get to you." He slipped his arm across her shoulders. "It's some dumb kid, Callie, that's all. Some adolescent with a sick sense of humor."

"When was the last time you saw kids around here?" He remained silent. "Whoever did this knew you were here and used that fact to harass me, hoping to drive me out. Smashing windows didn't work. Or wrecking the scaffolding. Maybe they thought getting personal would."

"Will it?"

She shook her head. "Can you do anything to stop him? Or her?" She examined his face with narrowed eyes. Her mouth compressed into a thin line. "Do you want to?"

He looked her squarely in the eye. "I'll say it again — if I didn't want to help I wouldn't be here. I thought my presence would keep the culprit away. The storm handed us a bad break. Next time will be different."

"Maybe." She rubbed her arms to get her circulation going. "It's cold. I'm going inside to change."

"I'll look around for anything that might help."

By the time Callie had dressed and come back down to the kitchen, Luc had returned with a plastic evidence bag containing one small object.

"Take a look."

She examined the bag beneath the ceiling fixture. "Is that the nozzle from a paint can?"

"I don't think we can get a print. It's too small, but if the color is the same, we can try for a match to the can our friend used."

"How does that help?"

"I'll check around, try to determine where it was bought and by whom."

"I want to come along."

He shook his head. "Not a good idea."

"Why?"

"People know me and will talk more freely without a stranger around."

"And you think the culprit will just give himself away because he feels comfortable with you?"

Luc arched one brow. "What I think is, the culprit, as you call him, is less likely to do so if the object of his harassment is stalking him. And with the right information, I have been known to solve a small riddle or two. It's what I do. When I'm allowed to do my job."

"I'm not doubting your skill. I just want to be there. Is that so wrong?"

"What's wrong is you don't trust me." He massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He seemed to do that often, but her anger kept her from asking why.

"Just because I want to be a part of your investigation doesn't mean I don't trust you." Not totally true, she thought.

He stepped closer and looked deeply into her eyes. "Be honest. From the first, you thought I might be connected to the vandalism. That even if not directly involved, I might have looked the other way. To avoid biting the hand that feeds me."

"I won't deny it, but that was before."

"Before a double set of raging hormones became impossible to ignore? Before we both decided to put aside instinct, caution and common sense — everything that experience has taught us about getting in too deep." He went silent for a moment, then added, "I think that guy might have done us a favor."

The weariness in his voice and the stiffness of his stance put her on guard. The obvious disappointment shadowing his eyes confused her. "Meaning?"

"We should thank him for interrupting us before we made a colossal mistake."

Her breath caught in her throat, wedged behind a knot of anger she could neither expel nor swallow. Her fingers curled into fists she had no choice but to jam into her pockets. How else could she stifle the urge to punch him in the mouth?

That glorious mouth that only a short while ago had brought pleasure, awakening feelings and impulses she'd chosen over revenge. The same mouth that now called what they'd almost shared, a mistake? She bit down on her tongue to suppress her anger and then thought,
the hell with it.

"You needn't concern yourself about either of us making a 'colossal mistake.' Or, heaven forbid, getting in too deep. I'm too smart and you...." She poked him in the chest. "You're too chicken."

She started up the stairs and turned briefly. "Don't let the door smack you in the butt on your way out, Señor Sheriff."

Luc closed the door quietly behind him, making sure no part of his anatomy got in the way as he stepped out onto the veranda. He sat on the top step watching the sky brighten with the coming day. This was getting to be a habit and a bad one at that.

He'd welcomed the vandal's intrusion because it had given him a chance to step back and take a deep breath, an impossible task when he was around the fair Ms. Patterson. Just as he seemed about to lose what little control he had, he'd forced her to bail him out by evoking her anger and wedging it between them.

Her words echoed in his head and churned in his gut. She was right about his cowardice, but not for the reasons she believed true. The episodes of blurred vision and headaches were coming more frequently. What if they didn't stop? Or got worse? If they were the advance guard of something even more serious, he would have nothing to offer Callie.

As long as his future lay in doubt, he could do nothing about the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. He’d put them there and would have to live with them. Sadly, so would she.

* * *

Alternating hot and cold showers had rescued Callie from a night without rest. Three cups of strong black coffee set her on her feet. Unfortunately, neither tactic provided enough incentive to make the ride into
Albuquerque
as she'd originally planned. Thank God Luc had left before she came downstairs. Facing him would have been too devastating.

Facing Nick and his workers wasn't much easier. Although the contractor had painted over the graffiti, the incident and the fact he and his men knew Luc had spent another night inside the house left her too uncomfortable to hang around. She hiked down to the Mercantile to pick up her mail.

Elvira was sweeping the worn plank floor and smiled as Callie stepped over the threshold. "Got a package for you today." She put aside the straw broom and retrieved a small box from behind the counter.

Stacked on top were several letters from friends in
New York
and her brother in
Boston
. The package had come from Gram's lawyer, Garrett Hobbs, and felt heavy enough to arouse her curiosity.

She glanced up at Elvira. "Do you have a letter opener?"

The woman nodded and pulled a flat-head screw driver from a pocket in her overalls. "That do?"

Callie grinned. "That'll do just fine."

She set the carton on the counter and slit the packing tape. Inside lay five small leather-bound books. She riffled the fragile onion skin pages of the top book.

"It's Grandmother's diary. She wrote in it nearly every day that I can remember." She checked the date of one entry, then looked at Elvira. "It goes back a long way."

"She kept a diary even when we were girls. I did, too. Only Hattie didn't have the patience. Or see the need."

Callie tucked the book and her letters inside the carton. "Guess what I'll be doing for the next few days."

Elvira pointed to the box in Callie's arms. "What a nice way to get in touch with your Grandma again."

Callie nodded and headed back to the house, using the kitchen entrance to avoid small talk and pleasantries on a day when she no desire for either.

She filled a Thermos™ and stuffed it into a backpack along with a sandwich, a disposable camera to take photos for the promotional campaign and a powerful flashlight she'd already stashed there for a nighttime excursion underground. Laying one of the book
s on top, she set out past the Golden Eye mine for the solitude waiting within the ruins of Blue Sky. Her perch on the edge of a stone wall gave her a panoramic view of the valley with its tumbledown remnants of buildings.

She pulled out the diary, savoring the feel of its buttery-soft leather beneath her fingertips. The book fell open to a page that seemed worn from repeated readings.

"Poor C. is in trouble," it said. "The worst kind. She can't tell her father; he'd kill the hapless fool who led her astray. Apparently, marriage is out of the question, tho. she wouldn't say why. I have heard of a young girl on the Mexican side of town who has been midwife to several of her country-women. I suggested C. talk to the partera. Maybe she knows a way out of this dreadful dilemma."

Dreadful indeed, Callie thought, at a time when having a child without benefit of marriage would have stigmatized a woman — and her child — for life. Several pages further on, Lucinda picked up her story.

"The partera was unable to help as C. is too far along. I fear for her. She is family and I would help her if I could. But we can tell no one and have little recourse in this situation. I have suggested she go away and have her baby in
Europe
, perhaps. Then she might put up the child for adoption. She has decided against my advice and will raise the baby alone, if Uncle J. refuses to help his daughter and grandchild. Such a sad occurrence and even sadder choices. But I do so admire her courage."

Callie dug into her memories of family history, but nothing Gram and Aunt Hatt ever told her tied into this incident. Who was Uncle J? And had the scandal caused a rift within the family? One so wide “C” and her child were ostracized? Or at least, never spoken of again?

"Couldn't be," she muttered. Gram never would have deserted her cousin. Not the Gram she'd known all her life, the woman who'd raised her after her parents' death, who'd been parent, friend, teacher and confidante.

Not that she would have qualified for sainthood. She had, after all, been capable of carrying a life-long anger toward the Morenos. Most specifically, Fernando.

Of course, it was he who had incurred Gram’s wrath. His reaction to Callie, filled with pain and regret and something that had almost seemed like – longing – spoke of a sad history. He seemed to be the right age to have been a contemporary of Gram's and charming enough to have appealed to any young woman of the day.

Surely Dorotea couldn't have been the cause of anger; she seemed much younger than either Lucinda or Fernando. Unless, Callie thought, she'd come between them and stolen him away..
.
.

She paged forward.
"I have been a fool,"
Gram had written.
"Wasting my sympathy and caring on a snake in the grass, thinking that family counted for something, when, to certain people, it doesn't. I would have done anything within my power to help her and her child, but she has just revealed the identity of its father. And tragedy of tragedies, he is none other than Mi Amore. Together they have betrayed me and it matters not which of them took the first steps toward the other. Father speaks of returning to
St. Louis
. Until now, I have fought him, but no longer. I shall leave this place willingly and would just as willingly leave behind my broken heart. If only I could.”

Although she still had no clue to “C’s” identity, she knew finally why Gram had sent her to be a thorn in Fernando Moreno’s side. Although she’d always implied that she wanted to avenge a wrong between families, in truth, a shattered romance lay at the core of her anger. Surely one of the other diaries would confirm her suspicions, either directly or by innuendo.

If the awful event not taken place, Lucinda might have spent the rest of her life in Blue Sky, perhaps even married her
amore
. Callie looked down on the valley and felt a need to explore the place that would have been home to the person she, herself, might have been.

* * *

A trail crossed the
caldera
wall. Dozens of old mines pockmarked the rocky hillside. Here and there, rusting machinery left reminders of past glories and failures. Glad she'd worn jeans and a long sleeve denim shirt, she climbed an incline overgrown with sagebrush and mesquite.

At the first mine entrance Callie directed her light through the opening and looked inside. A chorus of shrieks and the throb of flapping wings greeted the intrusion of the powerful beam. Bats, she supposed with a shudder.