Last of the Red-Hot Riders (18 page)

“That Judy's dealing with more than she let on.” Cameron looked at the clear blue sky overhead, spun with slight strands of wispy clouds. There were probably twenty-five horses turned out, enjoying the glorious day. Somewhere she could hear someone hammering, probably repairing a fence. It really was beautiful in Hell. She wished she could stay forever.

But she couldn't. “I know secret-keeping is a fine art in Hell, but I'm beginning to wonder if maybe we should bend that rule.”

Harper closed her truck door. “You mean tell Steel about Judy.”

“What do you think?” Cameron asked Harper.

“I think a secret's a secret,” Anna piped up.

They looked at her.

“That's the part that bothers me.” It was hard to know what to do, though Cameron thought silence was probably golden in this case.

“And then there's Judy's privacy. You know Judy. She's too independent to want Steel's help, too courageous to want him to suffer, and too vain to want him to see her without hair,” Harper said.

“Or breasts,” Cameron murmured, thinking about Ivy's brief hint of something being removed. Ivy hadn't been too sure, either. Judy was being very close with her information. Which meant she wanted nothing getting back to Steel. “Maybe it was just a lumpectomy or something. Not like that is nothing in itself…I'm worried about her.”

“Well, hair will grow back, and breasts can be rebuilt.” Harper shook her head. “But trust can't be rebuilt, not really. And Ivy should never have told us. Especially since there's nothing we can do but worry.”

Cameron nodded. “My first instinct in the beginning was that Ivy was making trouble by telling us, that she wanted Steel to know because she knew how much it would bother Judy. Now I wonder if she's telling us what's going on because she's concerned.”

Harper scoffed. “If you think for one minute that Ivy's getting soft, you need to stop going out there. Don't fall under her spell.”

This was true, too. “Maybe I'm the one getting soft.”

“Now there's a thought,” Harper said, and Cameron glanced at her sharply.

“Do you have something you want to say, Harper?” she asked, and Anna glanced at her in surprise at her sharp tone.

“Yes, I do. You can't quit the team just because a spoiled brat decided to not take her turn in the family dynamic. You didn't leave home until you were, what, twenty-four?” She looked at Anna, and back to Cameron. “Why are you giving up your dreams for her? Makes me wonder if you were ever as tough as everybody thought you were. You have the talent; you have the strength. But you can't let anybody get in your way, not if it's a real dream.”

Cameron folded her arms over her chest. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Quit being a wienie. I'm a single mother with a young son, blonde—yes, that matters—and a woman. Who do you really think is going to take me seriously enough to let me into an arena with bulls?” She glared at Cameron. “Stiffen your spine and figure out what you want. But don't let this selfish, sugar-high, all-about-me kid suck up your life. Come on, Anna.”

Cameron stared after them as Anna followed close on Harper's boots.

“Whoa,” Saint said. “I just happened to catch the tail end of that. What's going on?”

Cameron looked at him. Big and tall, dark hair straying under his straw Resistol, Saint was a hot dream of a man. He was also a rascal. She knew that.

But she'd put him on ice because she was scared. And Harper was right: She couldn't lean on the excuse Anna provided. Anna was the escape, not the problem.

The problem was Saint. And the fact that she'd fallen head over heels, irreparably in love with him. A rascal, but one who drove her crazy with sex and lust and craving his mouth on her body and him in her arms, inside her. There wasn't an hour of the day that she didn't think about how much she felt when she was with him.

“I'm planning on taking Anna back to Houston today.”

He raised a brow. “I heard something like that through the grapevine. I also heard, though the same grapevine, that you're quitting the team.”

He didn't come closer, though they were alone. His eyes were shaded under his hat, but she could read tension in his stance as he stood there with his hands on his lean hips. “I was going to say goodbye, Saint,” she said softly.

“The hell you were. And just for the record, nobody quits my team without a damn good reason.”

Cameron was leaving him.

Saint had heard this from reliable
sources—everybody
in Hell was a reliable source when it came to meddling in someone's love life—and he'd rejected the gossip soundly.

But right now, looking at how her pretty face was steeped in guilt, he knew she was planning her exit. Just like that—as if nothing mattered here in Hell: not the team, not Hell itself, and certainly not him.

“I'm sorry, Saint. I have to do what's best for my family.”

“You haven't been home except for holidays in over a year, and suddenly, you shipping out is the best thing?” He shook his head. “I'm just not buying it, cupcake.”

“Don't call me ‘cupcake,' ” she snapped. “You know nothing about me at all.”

He raised a brow. “I know pretty much everything about you. Probably more than anybody else in Hell.”

She glared back. “You don't know anything about my family, or the fact that the team changed. It's not what it was supposed to be, what I was hired to come here for. We haven't even been paid in the last month, but that's not the biggest thing. It's that the team fell apart.” Her hands rested on her hips now, a mirror image of his stance. “I've said I'm sorry. I would have told you. I'm sorry you weren't the first to hear.”

That was indeed a deep wound. He felt like he should have been higher on the scorecard than rating town gossip—though to be fair, Hell's information wheel was a pretty well-oiled machine. News could be all over town in a matter of seconds, even before the advent of the cellphone. Now, disseminating important information, from tornado sightings to loose hogs, lost dogs, or broken hearts, happened in a matter of seconds.
Especially
broken hearts, like his at the moment.

The sudden comprehension that Cameron meant more to him than he meant to her was a bitter pill he refused to swallow. “So the time I spent training you meant nothing.” He told himself to stop right there, but the hurt ran deeper. “And making love with me.”

She blushed harder than he'd ever seen her blush, her freckles turning a dark rose against her pale skin. “Saint, it's not like that.”

“It's
exactly
like that.”

Which cut like a knife. Shaking his head, he turned and walked off, went to his office. Grabbed his stuff, headed to his truck. Fired up the engine and drove home to get Lucky.

Lucky liked his crate so much that when Saint wasn't around, Lucky lay in it on his blanket, though he was now well-trained enough to have the run of the house. Saint used to come home expecting to find Lucky cuddled up in his bed, resting his head on Saint's pillows, but Lucky was always inside his crate, the door wide open. He was going to take his dog and go out to the creek, where they could get in a boat and row to the center of nowhere, unreachable by cell phone and inconvenient human.

Damn that redhead, anyway.

Shitfire and save the matches, as his mother used to say in her more unprintable moments. He'd let Cameron get under his skin in the worst way, when he'd known all along this couldn't end any way but badly.

“I knew it,” he told Lucky as the dog came gamboling out of his crate to greet him. “I knew all that sassy fire was going to burn me. And I did it anyway. I have no one to blame but myself.”

Lucky barked, following Saint as he went to grab a six-pack of beer.
Hell, make that a twelve-pack.
He tossed it in his cooler with lots of ice, some wet towels on top. Grabbed a veritable feast of food from the fridge, snacks he'd been keeping in stock for Cameron. Tossed in a twelve-pack of water. There was a cabin deep inside the woods near the creek, a run-down place that the Outlaws used on occasion when they needed a total unplug. They'd put in three military-style cots, some MREs, some candles and matches. It wasn't a survival bunker, unless you counted emotional survival.

Which was what he was looking for now.

His phone was blowing up with texts from Declan, Harper, Steel, and Trace, all expressing concern, all saying they'd be waiting on him at Redfeather's.

But Redfeather's wasn't going to be his survival mode tonight.

He needed peace and quiet. Serenity.

“Oh, shit. Dog food,” he said to Lucky. “Unless you want me to shoot a squirrel for you and grill it. I guess you're almost old enough for training to be a gun dog, and I sure as hell have no other training to do right now. No time commitments.”

Lucky nosed the bag of dog food. “Good choice,” Saint said. “Less work.”

Saint had taken his hammock with him, and some other items suited for living off the grid for a few days. Just a few days, enough to clear Cameron out of his head.

He was more hurt than he wanted anybody to know.

Before he got into the boat, which was now fully loaded down with Lucky—who was fascinated by how the slight waves joggling the flat-bottomed
rowboat—coolers,
and the hammock, he saw that a call had come in, from his mother.

“I should probably take this one,” he told Lucky. “Hang on. Hello?” He listened for a second. “Hey, Mom. Yes, I'm fine. No, I'm not upset about anything. Everything's good in my life. In fact, I'm about to take a couple days off.” He listened for another few minutes as his mother went on to tell him what his four sisters were doing. As usual, it was a shitstorm of activity and gentle insanity of the female variety, or at least the insanity his family seemed to specialize in. He smiled, recognizing his mother's pleasure in her daughters' antics.

Unlike Cameron's mother, who had more kids and less emotional reserves to cope. That much had been easy to figure out with the advent of Anna into Hell, he thought. She seemed very eager to tag along with Cameron, whom it was clear she respected. “Mom, I've got to go. I know you're not through telling me everything the girls have been up to, but the thing is, if I don't get out of here, I'm going to get caught.” He sighed at her next few comments. “I didn't bring her out to the house to meet you because there wasn't any reason. It wasn't a serious relationship. Mom, I'll let you know when I have a serious relationship, okay? Trust me, that was not it. But I'm going to hop in a hammock now, and I'm not going to be reachable for a couple of days. If you need me, call the sheriff. I love you. Goodbye.”

Steel would know how to find him. So would Trace and Declan, but they wouldn't bother him. As his brothers, they knew better than anyone how crucial peace and solitude were, and a brain wipe out in the lush green, rejuvenating forest around the creek.

He left his truck locked and parked under a tall pine. The camo paint and the thicket of trees hid it from the road. He got in the boat, made sure Lucky was secure, and rowed like hell.

Cameron needed girl talk tonight, and she wasn't going to find that at Redfeather's. Declan had told her that Saint had gone away for a few days, a necessary respite to see if he could pull his head out from being firmly lodged in his ass.

She knew Saint's retreat was because of her. He'd been angry and hurt, and she felt terrible. Every time she thought about the pain in his eyes, she wished she could take back her impetuous announcement of her departure, which must have sounded very cold to him.

“It's my fault,” Anna said. “If I hadn't come here, you'd still have that hunky cowboy breathing down your neck. I
told
you he liked you.” She shook her head. “Mom always said you were tough but an emotional marshmallow.”

Harper pointed out, “We're all emotional marshmallows until we get roasted over the fire of life. It's not your fault, Anna.”

“No, it's not.” Cameron completely agreed with Harper's statement. “You shouldn't have done a lot of things, but your presence here isn't the reason Saint's taking a sabbatical.” He was gone because she hadn't believed in what they had. Hadn't trusted it because it was all about sex—or so she'd thought. She'd guessed that was all
he
wanted from their relationship.

She hadn't trusted him. Because he was an Outlaw. And she hadn't wanted a rascal in her life.

Actually, she'd wanted him in her life; she just hadn't wanted to fall for him. Didn't want to get hurt, the way her mother's life had been completely undone by a good-looking, fast-talking, charming rascal.

“What are you going to do?” Harper asked.

“Nothing.” Cameron drew a deep breath. “You don't bother a wounded bear.”

Harper nodded. “I've got to go over to Steel's to get Michael after we eat. I'll take the wigs out to Judy's office then.”

“So we agree we say nothing to Steel?”

“Absolutely not. Not a word. It's not our secret to tell.” Harper perused the menu. “Do you see that Hattie has fresh fruit salad today with watermelon?”

So many residents of Hell brought their fresh fruit and vegetables in from their garden plots now that the food at Hattie's was bursting with good summer variety and taste. Cameron chose a fruit salad and a chicken breast served on a bed of quinoa with fresh vegetables.

“Healthy,” Harper said. “I'm going to carb-load with Hattie's lasagna.”

“I'm having one of Hattie's milk shakes.” Cameron put the menu away, looking at her sister. “I heard you talking to Mom today.”

Anna shrugged. “She's okay with me taking the GED. If you're okay with me staying in Hell.”

“I think you should graduate with your class.”

Anna looked at her. “You're just trying to get rid of me.”

Cameron shook her head. “It doesn't matter to me whether you're here or not. I just think you'll always regret not graduating with your friends. You know, there's such a thing as a twenty-fifth reunion.”

“Sounds like a drag,” Anna said. “That's a hundred years from now! I want to start living
now.
”

Harper looked at Anna. “Whatever happened to the prelaw student? You never mention him.”

“Oh. Him.” Anna sucked on her drink. “I told him to buzz off. He was
so
old!”

Cameron counted to ten. Turned to her sister. “You have to go home and graduate. Just because Mom can't pay attention to you anymore doesn't mean you can't take care of yourself.”

Anna's jaw dropped. “I can take care of myself!”

“You're not doing it,” Harper observed.

“So? What's the deal with you and Declan?” Anna asked. “Why's he always hanging around you?”

“He's not. We're friends, for your information,” Harper said.

Cameron looked at her. Did Harper really believe that?

The cool blonde with the green eyes looked like she did. She seemed perfectly content with her statement, not hiding anything. No twinkling eyes belied her words.

“Never kissed him?” Anna asked.

“Of course not! Don't be a weird little sixteen-year-old.”

Anna laughed. “I
am
a weird little sixteen-year-old. But even I know when a man likes a woman.”

Harper looked at Cameron. “Were you aware when you lived at home that your sister is a pain?”

“Absolutely.” Cameron ruffled Anna's curls. “But it's not a permanent thing.”

“Can I have a milk shake, too?” Anna asked.

“You had a lollipop and three doughnuts today,” Cameron said. “That's a lot of sugar.”

“Excuse me,” Anna said. “I wasn't aware there were sugar police in Hell. When are you going to fill out those papers for the police academy that are sitting on your dresser?”

Cameron jumped. “Stay out of my room, please.”

“Well?” Harper said. “When are you?”

Cameron shook her head, busied herself with the zucchini rolls and soft, creamy butter Hattie put on the table. She'd been planning to, but with Anna's arrival, plans she'd once had seemed a little out of focus.

“I'll go home, if you really want to go to the police academy, Cameron,” Anna said.

Cameron started. Looked at her sister, then at Harper. Realized Declan had come in, was scouting for them—or more likely, for Harper. She waved him over, glad for an excuse to get the spotlight off her.

Because she really didn't know what she was going to do. So much had changed, really fast.

“Hey.” Declan sat at the table, taking an empty seat at the round table. “Figured I'd find you guys here. Hi,” he said to Anna.

“Yes, I'm the pain-in-the-ass little sister.” Anna sighed. “Hi, my name is Anna, and I'll be going back to Houston soon.”

Declan grinned. “You can always come back. It's not a permanent change. Hell isn't going anywhere.”

“I like it here,” Anna said, and began to spoon up the smoking tortilla soup Hattie brought her.

Cameron realized Declan's attention was focused on her rather than Harper. “You have something on your mind?”

“Yeah.” Declan shrugged, big and handsome in a western shirt that stretched across his broad chest. Pretty much like Saint's did. She drooped a bit inside, thinking about the pain she'd seen in Saint's eyes. “I don't think you're done training.”

“Training?” Cameron stared at him.

“For bullfighting.” Declan's gaze was focused.

Anna was looking at her, watching her every move. She didn't want to say anything that would hurt Anna's feelings. Anna's decision about going home to Houston had to be her own, or else she wouldn't be any happier there now than she had been. Cameron shrugged. “I'll figure it out.”

“I may have a solution to your situation,” Declan said. “I put in a call to Shorty. He's the best bullfighting trainer there is. Has trained a lot of the best. I called him, and he says he's willing to take a look at what you've got.”

Cameron blinked. “You mean go to Colorado?”

He raised a brow. “You would have had to eventually. Saint may be one of the last of the red-hot riders, and he knows his stuff, but Shorty's got the connections you'd need to get jobs.”