Desert Heat (8 page)

“I know. And I’m not saying I won’t sleep with a woman in the future. I just wanted you to know the truth about that night.”

Patience managed a smile, but somehow it wasn’t that easy. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

He helped her down from the truck and walked her over to her pickup. “So where’d you learn to play cards?”

“My dad. I watched them playing poker in the movies when I was little and I begged him to teach me. He learned just so he could. When we were growing up, he played with me and my sisters all the time.”

Dallas chuckled at the image. “What about your mom?”

“She died when I was eight.” Patience stared off toward the grassy square in the center of town. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember what she looked like.”

Dallas followed her gaze. “My mother died when I was twelve. I remember everything about her.”

Patience studied his face, read the loss that flickered in his eyes. “What was she like?”

“My mom? She was Charlie’s sister, you know. A real Texas cowgirl. She was born and raised right there on the Circle C Ranch. The Carsons were ranchers all the way back to the days of the Alamo.”

“We both lost our mothers,” she said. “I guess that means we actually have something in common.”

Dallas reached out and touched her cheek. “So who are you, P.J. Sinclair?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell the truth—you write for some sleazy tabloid and you’re doing an article about aliens who disguise themselves as cowboys.”

Patience grinned. “I hadn’t actually considered that but maybe you’ve got an idea.”

“I know—you write a lonely hearts column and you’re doing a series about sex on the rodeo circuit.”

She laughed. “Wrong again. Definitely not a lonely hearts column.” She cast him a speculative glance. “Even if I were, you wouldn’t be much help. What would you know about being lonely?”

His smile slipped a little. “You’re right. How could a guy like me possibly ever get lonely?” But she thought she saw something in his face that said there were times he was very lonely indeed.

He opened the door of her truck and she climbed up behind the wheel. Dallas closed the door and she fired up the engine. As she pulled out from the curb, she could see him in the mirror, standing on the sidewalk, watching as she drove away.

In rodeo, the Fourth of July weekend was one of the biggest of the year. Charlie and the Circle C were producing the show in Greeley, Colorado, a big-money rodeo where Dallas would be competing before he flew out to St. Paul, Oregon, then on to compete in the Cody, Wyoming, show.

Patience was glad he was leaving.

She needed to concentrate on her thesis. She was committed to finishing it by the end of summer and whenever Dallas was around, it was almost impossible to work. She hated the way he intruded into her thoughts when he was the last man on earth that she should be thinking about.

Sitting in the booth in the dining area of the trailer, Patience worked for a while, then decided to call her father. As usual, Tracy answered.

“Patience! Good Lord, your father is practically ready to board the next plane for Arizona. Is everything all right?”

She sighed. After Tyler, she understood her father’s worry; still, she wasn’t thirteen anymore. “If he flies to Prescott, he’ll be wasting his time. I’m in Greeley, Colorado.”

“Colorado!”

“I’ve got to say, I really didn’t realize what a grueling life rodeo people lead. They’re on the road every week, heading for one show after another. One of the bronc riders said he’d done twenty shows in the last eighteen days.”

“Good heavens.”

“Lucky for me, Shari’s schedule isn’t quite that bad.” Though Dallas’s was definitely rough, with his public relations work and making three shows in one weekend, as he planned to do over the Fourth.

“Hang on a minute, your dad’s reaching for the phone.”

“Take care, Tracy.”

“You, too.”

Her dad’s voice came on the line. “I’m glad you called. I was starting to worry.”

“Everything’s okay. If you’re worried about Tyler, I haven’t seen a trace of him. Did the police find out if he was involved in the burglary?”

“Tyler denied knowing anything about it. They didn’t find any fingerprints so there’s no real way to tell. But a couple of days ago, your friend Molly Jansen called the house.” Patience’s best friend at B.U., Molly, knew about her problems with Tyler. Patience made a mental note to drop her an e-mail the next time she got the chance.

“Molly says rumor is, Tyler has taken a trip out of town. His friends say he went to Bermuda with some girl, but no one seems to know for sure. Molly and I…well, we both thought you ought to know.”

A little shiver ran through her. Tyler wasn’t in Boston. For an instant, her paranoia rose up. He had found out where she was and he was coming after her. God knew what he planned to do if he found her. Then her common sense took over. Tyler had no way of knowing where she was—half the time, even her parents didn’t know. Besides, he had never really done anything to hurt her. Scared her pretty bad the night he had come into her bedroom and threatened her, but never physically hurt her.

“I’m glad you told me. I don’t think he’s trying to find me. It’s been weeks since I broke off with him. Still, if he does show up, I have a dozen of the toughest cowboys in the country to look out for me.”

It was true, though she’d never really thought about it until now. Most rodeo cowboys grew up with an old-fashioned sense of right and wrong that included a protective attitude toward women. She was traveling with Shari, a member of their world, therefore she fell under their protection. Just like the day she had landed in the pen with the bulls.

She didn’t mention that to her dad, however.

“Everything okay with you and Tracy?” she asked instead and could almost see her father smile.

“Everything’s fine. She’ll have her master’s by the end of summer. I’m so damned proud of her.”
And so much in love with her.

Her father had loved Patience’s mother that same way. They had met in college and married shortly thereafter. They’d had a fairy-tale life, until Faith Sinclair had suffered a rare kind of stroke and died.

Losing her had nearly destroyed Ed Sinclair. Then he’d met Tracy. She was six years younger, an assistant in the admissions office at B.U. They had so much in common, just as he and Faith once had. The marriage had worked, and after fifteen years, the two of them were still deeply in love.

Patience sighed. Her father had been lucky—not once, but twice. Why couldn’t something like that happen to her?

“Give Snickers a hug for me,” she said at the end of the call, thinking it was a pretty sad state of affairs when her house cat was the most important man in her life.

She couldn’t help thinking of Tyler Stanfield, wondering if there was any chance he had gone in search of her. Surely not. Their brief relationship had never been good. She hadn’t the slightest idea why he had become so obsessed with her.

Unless it was the sex.

Maybe he felt even more inadequate than she. Maybe secretly he blamed himself for the fact she hadn’t been responsive. He was, after all, Tyler Stanfield, the golden boy. Women usually fell all over him. Whatever the reason, she didn’t have time to worry about it.

Patience unfolded her glasses, slid them up on her nose, and opened her laptop. Entering the Word file titled
Cowgirls,
she started typing in the notes from the interviews she had done. When she finished, she reviewed some of her thesis work, then closed down the machine. In an overhead cupboard, she found her great-grandmother’s journal, and set it down on the table.

She was reading it slowly, enjoying the odd connection she felt to a woman who had died twenty years ago at the age of eighty-one. Adelaide Holmes was dead and buried and yet with every page, every word, Patience could feel her presence as if she stood just a few feet away.

As if they shared some bond, some secret method of communication. Which, with the journal, in a way, they did.

As Patience read over the next few pages, Addie and Lucky began traveling together, their friendship growing, two unmarried young women braving a world almost totally dominated by men. In Portland, one of the horses pulled a tendon coming down the homestretch and Addie’s team lost the race.

Patience would have kept on reading if a knock at the door hadn’t interrupted her. “Come on in,” she called out, figuring it was probably Stormy.

She didn’t expect to see Dallas Kingman’s black hat poke through the door. He grinned when he saw her.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses. Kind of reminds me of my fifth grade teacher.”

Patience snatched them off her face and sat up a little straighter in the booth. “I usually wear my contacts.”

He smiled as he pulled his hat off, ducked his head, and came in, absorbing the last of what little space there was inside. “Actually, that was a compliment. Mrs. Lovell was a total fox.” He grinned. “I had a crush on her for years.” He glanced down at the computer sitting on the Formica-topped table. “You working on your article?”

Patience gazed up at him, thinking how terrific he looked. “Actually, I was reading my great grandmother’s journal. She was an early rodeo cowgirl.”

“No kidding.”

“That was back in 1912. I think she did a little trick riding once in a while, but mostly she competed in the cowgirl relay races.”

The grin reappeared. “So you’ve actually got a little red, white, and blue rodeo blood pumping through you.”

Patience set the tapestry-covered volume on the table. “I suppose so, though it’s pretty diluted by now.” Mixed with the ice water Tyler believed ran through her veins. Patience glanced up at Dallas, wishing the last thought hadn’t popped into her head. “I didn’t even know I had relatives in Oklahoma until last year.”

“That must have been quite a shock for a Boston-bred, city girl like you.”

He was laughing at her. She should have been insulted but his eyes were twinkling and somehow she wasn’t. “Is there something you wanted?”

He fiddled with his hat. “Charlie’s talking to a couple of old-time cowgirls over at the VIP stand. He thought you might like to meet them.”

She brightened. “Definitely. I’ll pack things up here and head over that way right now.”

Dallas turned the hat in his hands. They were large and calloused but when he had held her, they had been gentle.

“I’ll be flying out after the show. After I’m through in Cody, I’m headed to Calgary. I guess I won’t be seeing you till we meet up in Sheridan.”

“I guess not.” After Shari and Stormy left Greeley, they were traveling to a Circle C rodeo down in Pecos. Afterward, Charlie was going home to his ranch in the Hill Country to see his wife.

“I got a whole week off,” Charlie had said. “I been missin’ my woman somethin’ fierce. I can’t wait to get back home.”

Patience returned her computer to its usual spot on the table, then turned to Dallas. He was dressed for the evening performance, wearing his trademark blue western shirt and hand-tooled black and gold metallic fringed chaps. They rode low on his hips, framing the zipper on his jeans and a substantial male bulge that brought a rush of color to her face.

Dallas must have noticed. He made a rough sound in his throat and when she looked up, his eyes were a deeper shade of blue and even more intense. Her cheeks felt hot. She kept her gaze on his face.

Dallas’s fingers tightened around the brim of his hat. “I…um…I better get going.”

“Good luck with your ride.”

He just nodded and turned to leave. She thought she heard him curse as he descended the steps of the trailer.

In Greeley, Dallas rode well and won some money. In St. Paul, he rode like a boob. He drew a good horse but got sidetracked on the first jump out of the chute, dropped a boot behind the horse’s withers, and took a no score. In Cody, he was determined to make up for the poor showing in Oregon and made one of the best rides he had made all year. The good news was he took home first-place money, which was a respectable chunk in Cody.

The bad news was, his dismount was faulty and he went into the fence, wrenching his shoulder again and ripping the skin off the back of his hand.

His hand scabbed over. In Calgary the following week, he wrapped the shoulder in an Ace bandage and took a third in the overall. Roy Greenwood showed up and though he grumbled that the judges scored the ride too low, he seemed happy that Dallas had landed in the money.

After the perf, Roy took his entire entourage out to supper: three hot-looking Vegas showgirls who had accompanied him on his private jet—a sleek little Citation that Dallas had ridden in a couple of times—Roy’s brother, Bob, always up for a party, and a small group of men and women who worked at a Greenwood Enterprises branch office in Calgary.

One of the showgirls, a leggy brunette named Cherry, slid into the red leather booth beside him at supper and Dallas saw Roy grin. Apparently, Cherry was a gift. She was nearly as tall as Dallas and built like the proverbial brick s-house. What was that old saying? Never look a gift horse in the mouth?

They went back to the River’s Edge Inn where Roy had rented a bank of rooms, drank for a while in the bar, then Dallas and the brunette went upstairs.

She was good. He had to give her that. She must have sensed a hint of reluctance or indifference or whatever it was he was feeling, because the next thing he knew she was taking charge. Cherry knew what she wanted and she took it.

No strings attached.

Not like the Boston blonde he had left in the tiny trailer. Sex with her would be ridiculously complicated. She’d want promises he couldn’t give. Commitments he couldn’t begin to make.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but when they were finished, Cherry smiled, pleased with the job she had done.

“Anything else I can do for you, cowboy?”

He wanted her to leave. His shoulder was aching, she had done her work, and he had to get up early in the morning. And all the time she had been working him over, he had been thinking of Patience. “Tell Roy I owe him one.”

She looked up at him through heavily mascared lashes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

Dallas shook his head. “Sorry, darlin’. I got work to do tomorrow.”

He sent her away, thinking of Patience, wishing she had been the woman in his bed, cursing the fact that he wanted her and didn’t really understand why. She was getting under his skin and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t afford commitments, couldn’t afford to get involved with a woman. Romance didn’t fit into the life he led, the plans he had made for the future.

From this moment on, he told himself, he wasn’t going to think of Patience Sinclair. When he got back to Sheridan, he’d do whatever it took to get her out of his system for good.

Dallas rolled over in the bed, exhausted but oddly restless, even after his bout with the brunette. Spotting the bottle of whiskey she had left on the nightstand, he reached over, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink, hoping it would help him fall asleep.

Dallas woke up with the mother of all headaches. He groaned as he cracked open his eyes and tried to will away the pounding between his temples. The alarm clock was buzzing. He grimaced as he leaned over to shut it off.

Six a.m.
Roy’s plane would be leaving at eight, giving him a first class ride to Sheridan, and Dallas needed to be on it. He rolled toward the edge of the mattress, fought down a wave of nausea, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

At least he was alone.

He didn’t remember what time the showgirl had left, but he was damned glad she was gone. He didn’t realize he had drunk so much. Now he was stuck with one helluva hangover. He swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat and forced his feet to move toward the bathroom. He grimaced when he looked in the mirror, stared into his whiskery face and bloodshot eyes.

Fleetingly, he wondered how much longer he could keep up the pace.

Long enough to get what you want.

To win the All-Around title again in December and a good chunk more money stashed away toward buying his ranch.