Renegade Moon (CupidKey) (5 page)

“The Rampton Corporation logo,” she said aloud. Blinking, she stared again to make sure. No mistake. She could see the logo on two of the crates. She squinted at the airplane, but due to the angle at which it sat, she was unable to make out the registration numbers. Something teased the edge of her mind. One by one she examined the photos again, her eyes finally lighting on the lone photo she’d snapped at the landing strip. Yes. Though seen at a different angle, they were the same mountains she’d stopped to photograph when she’d stumbled upon Will’s shack.

Quickly she took her map and spread the folded pages out on the small table. Carefully tracing with a fingertip and glancing at the photos, she realized that had she not stopped at Will’s, but continued on, she would have wound around that group of hills and arrived at the airstrip within two or three miles. She’d taken the wrong exit road when she’d left the airstrip. The correct one lay a few dozen yards from that horrible path where she’d found herself and had to back so far down. She shuddered at the memory. The other road passed by Will’s shanty.

With an odd little shock, she noticed one other detail. Not only Will’s shack, but also the airstrip was located on the Bar-M. Something was going on. And she intended to find out what.

The next morning, Destiny launched her search for boots. Exploring the area at the dig on foot with Lee the afternoon before, they’d happened upon a rattlesnake. Lee had swept her up and out of danger with a strength that had surprised her, firmly pointing out that had she been alone, boots might have been her only protection from the snake’s fangs.

With the warning buzz of the rattle ringing in her memory, Destiny headed into Las Nubes on that bright summer morning, admiring a clear and very blue sky. Only in the afternoons did the giant thunderheads build up, reaching thousands of feet into the air, ready to release their sound and fury upon the parched earth. So far, that activity had remained confined to the mountains, much to the disappointment of the locals.

Las Nubes was gently stirring when Destiny arrived. The town’s rustic buildings offered an old-west atmosphere. The western end of town held condominiums and a few touristy shops, set off by a small adobe church. A few houses dotted the hills surrounding the village. She spotted the Mercantile, parked in front, and wandered inside. Not just a front for show, the Mercantile offered everything from jeans to dressy clothes and footwear, just not on the scale of a large city department store. Still, Destiny was impressed as she strolled over to survey the boot selection.

“Not these either,” she grumbled, after trying on half a dozen pair. The only ones in her size that felt good were high-heeled dress boots. They wouldn’t do. Not only impractical for walking, they were so pretty it would be a shame to scuff them up among the rocks and cactus. Disappointed, she left the Mercantile and wandered down the sidewalk to a quaint drugstore that offered fountain service, then perched on a stool.

“Lemonade, please.” Sipping her drink, she turned on her stool to watch a mild commotion.

A stunning woman unleashed a tirade at a hapless saleslady about the lack of a particular brand of lotion. Even angry, the woman was beautiful. Her lean model’s body topped Destiny by at least four inches. She wore white linen pants and a draped, silken lavender blouse. Her platinum hair fell in smooth waves to her shoulders, complementing flawless alabaster skin and eyes such a deep blue they looked violet.

“I’m really very sorry,” her victim apologized, flustered. “We really can’t carry a wide variety here. Perhaps a substitute until you can get your brand?”

The beauty waved a slim hand as though to ward off such an evil suggestion. “Never mind!”

The lady who had been attempting to help turned quietly and resumed her place behind the cash register. Her opinion of the disgruntled shopper clouded her face. Destiny shared the unspoken opinion.

Miss Beauty Queen perused a selection of greeting cards, reacting as if each one had something distasteful written upon it. Destiny finished her drink, picked up her canvas shoulder bag and slid off her stool right into a collision with none other than the angry shopper. The woman’s handful of cards scattered onto the floor.

“Damn! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Feeling like a clumsy child, Destiny stooped to gather up the cards. Their heads collided.

“Oh, please,” the woman exploded, lifting her arms imploringly. “Someone save me from this person!”

Destiny stood statue-still, one hand to her bumped head, holding the two cards she’d picked up.

The woman snatched them away. “Just leave them alone. I’ll pick up the rest.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Destiny murmured again, hurrying to the register to pay. “Who is that?” she softly asked the lady behind the register.

“Iris Blake Rampton,” the cashier whispered.

Destiny’s eyes widened. “Of the Rampton Foundation?”

Small nod. “Jefferson Rampton owns the condos here and keeps one for his own family’s use. Iris is his daughter. She arrived from Dallas about a week ago. Personally, I . . .”

Her words faded at Iris’s approach. Destiny grabbed her change and rushed out before she tangled again with the formidable Iris. Back in her car, Destiny decided to drive down to the Trading Post, recalling that Eric had mentioned it as a possible source for boots.

Though the entrance drive was indeed in the middle of town, the store was down the hill behind the town, quite close to Ranger Creek. The store carried a feeling of age, even older than the little town, with its old-fashioned construction. Destiny passed goat pens out front and came to a deep shady porch, presently occupied by several sitters. They ranged from dusty children to an old man who looked as if he might have been sitting on this porch since it was built. Destiny’s camera hand itched, but she went inside, determined to concentrate on her boot purchase.

The interior was large, cluttered, dusty, and cloaked in that same ancient feeling she’d sensed when she drove up. Here she found her boots; light brown, high cut, with a walking heel. She’d worn jeans in anticipation, so she kept the boots on and carried her shoes in a bag. As she stepped back out onto the porch, she discovered a new sitter, Mr. Eric George Montoya.

At the sight of her he rose, smiling, and strode over to her. “What’s in the bag?”

“City shoes.” She displayed a foot. “See my new boots?”

“Good. I’m proud of you.”

She started to her car and he fell into step beside her.

“Hey, Eric George,” a man called in greeting.

“Howdy, Tom,” Eric responded, before turning back to Destiny. “Have you been down to the creek yet?”

“No.” Reaching her car, she dropped the shoes inside.

“Want to walk down there?”

By this time, she was totally confused. The last she saw of him he’d kissed her passionately, then stormed away as if he hated her. Now he acted friendly and relaxed. Destiny fussed with her shoulder bag to give herself time to regain her composure. Not wanting to haul the bag along, she stowed it in the car and put her keys in her jeans pocket.

Vehicles came and went in the dusty parking area but soon they crossed it and started down the road that led to the creek. Obviously, this portion of the creek held water, unlike many other stretches. As they neared the water, foliage increased until grass grew beneath slender cottonwood trees, and desert willows. When they reached the creek bank, Eric scooped up a palmful of water and patted it on Destiny’s T-shirt clad back. She gasped and he laughed.

“Cold, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed!”

“Water’s high for summer. Got some rain upstream recently. It adds to the spring flow that feeds the creek.”

About then a collection of vehicles and merry people on foot came along, shouting and laughing and slamming car doors, headed for the nearby corrals.

“Tourists,” Eric said. Destiny glanced up at him. “They’re going on a trail ride,” he elaborated, touching her elbow to guide her away from the water’s edge. They found a spot beneath a shady tree and sat down.

The cowboy guides arrived and shepherded the riders over toward the corral in preparation for their trail ride. “Las Nubes is courting the tourist trade,” Eric said. “It’s growing, but not as fast as some thought it might. It’ll be good for the area, and as long as I can retreat to the Bar-M, I don’t have a complaint.”

“Why do some people call you Eric George?” Destiny asked, the question popping out of nowhere.

“It’s my name.”

“I mean, why not just Eric?”

He shrugged. He’d developed shrugging to an art form. “I don’t know. That’s my birth name. Eric George. I just borrow the Montoya.”

“Oh. Your Indian name is Eric George?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m Indian, and that’s my name, so I suppose that’s my Indian name.”

“Well . . . I mean . . . I thought you might have a real Native American name like Flying Eagle or Running Deer . . .” She dared a peek at him, afraid of the way the conversation was going that he might be offended. Instead he seemed amused.

“Nothing so exotic. Is Destiny Winston your full name?”

“My middle name is Marie,” she offered.

“Destiny Marie Winston,” he tested. “Destiny’s an unusual name.”

“I guess our folks like unusual names. My older sister’s name is Dawn Christine. Marie is my mother’s name; Christine is my grandmother’s name. Mother plucked Dawn and Destiny out of some ethereal cloud.” She waved a hand as if to indicate that very cloud, floating somewhere just out of sight.

“Ah, your mom’s a romantic. Pretty names. Yours and your sister’s both. George is,
was,
my father’s name. That’s why I’m Eric George.”

“Montoya,” she added.

“Borrowed,” he repeated.

Without planning, without conscious movement, their arms came into contact as they sat beneath the slim tree. Destiny felt sweet liquid lava coursing through her veins. Though she thought she should move away, her arm seemed glued to his skin. She wondered if he felt the same sensation or if he even noticed the slight contact. She dared not look at him to see.

The trail ride group had launched and she watched them laughing their way over a ridge. A family wandered down by the creek, and a youngster began tossing rocks out into the water. Destiny wondered just how long she and Eric would sit there, frozen together, bound by a small spot on each of their arms. Would they eventually turn to stone and become a tourist attraction?

Then Eric suddenly got to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. She accepted, feeling the searing separation of their arms, and at the same time, the rough warmth of his large hand as it clasped hers. He held it as they walked back toward the Trading Post in silence.

“Lunchtime,” he observed as they headed toward the Mustang. “Want to get something in the restaurant?”

Destiny doubted if she could swallow, but she nodded, wanting to prolong this meeting. They drove back up to the town. Her brain had softened, grown incapable of rational thought. The feelings evoked by Eric’s presence, by the memory of his big hand holding hers, overwhelmed her and she could only allow him to guide her into the restaurant.

There sat Iris Blake Rampton at a wooden round table with Lee Duncan. Dismay swept over Destiny. Lee smiled. Half-rising, he waved them over. Destiny noticed Iris’s expression, the way she ogled Eric, the way she steamed at the sight of his hand resting lightly on Destiny’s shoulder.

Tension snapped through Eric. He moved his hand and Destiny glanced at him. His dark face became a thundercloud. An expressionless mask dropped over his features, giving nothing away.

Destiny realized that a link existed between Eric and Iris. They headed straight for the table, responding to Lee’s invitation as though everything were rosy. Sitting down, they exchanged greetings and Lee introduced Iris and Destiny.

“We’ve met in a way,” Iris said, her voice a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Her violet eyes traveled over Destiny and suddenly Destiny had a vivid picture of herself with tousled hair, sweaty and dusty, no makeup, a very unsatisfactory contrast to the cool and perfect Iris. She fought an urge to tip over Iris’s water glass into her lap, to mess up that lovely outfit. She wished now that she’d flattened Iris, accidentally of course, in the drugstore.

Crazy emotions played tag through Destiny’s nervous system while she sat quietly, studying the menu as if she could really read it, as if it made sense. A waitress appeared.

Sawdust and axle grease
, Destiny might have ordered, and been just as satisfied, but instead ordered tacos like the others did. At least she thought they’d ordered tacos, but when the food was brought, she discovered Iris had ordered enchiladas.

Destiny sighed. Enchiladas are eaten with a fork, but there’s no glamorous way to eat a taco. The men picked up their tacos and bit into them, holding them carefully over their plates so that when the taco shell invariably broke and the contents spilled, the plates would perform rescue service. Destiny watched Iris daintily cut her enchiladas into small bites and wanted to start a food fight.

She gave herself a mental shake.
What’s wrong with me?
She sat up straighter and lifted a taco, cradling it in her hands to hold it together as best she could, and took a small bite. The shell broke right in the middle, dumping the hot meat and seasonings into her hand. She involuntarily jerked her hand and
splat
! The crumbled taco crashed into her plate, spilling over the edges.

Iris tittered.

Destiny brushed the remaining crumbs from her hand and rose. “Excuse me. I have to wash my hands.” She quickly fled to the restroom. Hands clean, she wanted to sneak out back, disappear, and leave them wondering what had become of her. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let Iris win that easily, and,
make no mistake
, there was a contest going on.

She’d read the message in that alabaster face. She wasn’t a naturally clumsy person. How ridiculous that Iris’s mere presence could turn her into a klutz. She ran her fingers through her hair, patted her face with water, and returned to the battlefield.

Iris, obviously finished, had left half her food on her plate. The men scooped up taco leavings from their plates with their forks. Destiny picked up her fork and ate a few bites of her crumbled taco.

“I guess one must first crush these to eat them,” she said, allowing her cheerful smile to take in everyone at the table.

No one paid any attention to her. Iris talked about people Destiny didn’t know, but whom both Lee and Eric did. She pushed her remaining food around briefly, then moved her plate aside and sipped her ice water. From the tone of the conversation, Destiny concluded that Eric and Iris had known each other when they were younger, and Lee, though he didn’t fit in that particular notch, now appeared to know all the people under discussion.

Destiny shifted impatiently. She didn’t want to hear all this abstract talk about people she didn’t know. What she wanted was the background story of how these three people fit together.

The sensation of being watched crept over Destiny. Her gaze wandered around the room, seeking the source. Two men sat at a table by the wall. One, completely bald, swarthy, thick-necked and brutish featured, bent intently over his plate. The other, pale haired, pale complexioned, appearing for all the world like a Nazi SS officer out of uniform, focused on her with strange, colorless eyes. A twitch of his cruel mouth acknowledged her stare. She quickly averted her gaze.

Turning her attention back to her dining companions, she saw Iris smile intimately at Eric, touching his wrist lightly with a slim finger to emphasize some point of the conversation. Destiny glanced at Eric for his reaction. No answering smile creased his unreadable face.