Czytaj książkę: «Baby Dreams»

One

The snow was going to get bad. There was no way around it. It was fixing to storm. By midnight, the roads would be impassable. If he wanted to take one last run up the mountain, he’d best get to it.

Rafe Lonewolf strapped on his holster and put his service revolver in place, then shrugged into his heavy down jacket, pushed his hat onto his head and stepped out into the icy wind, heading for his blue-and-white unit.

A silver sedan was passing. It slowed to a stop and the window rolled down.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” called out the pretty young woman in the driver’s seat. A ruff of fur framed her face, just showing a hint of the long, black braid that was coiled at the crown of her head. Slanted dark eyes gave her an exotic look. “Want to come over for some hot coffee before you go?”

“No thanks, Sally,” he called, pausing and rocking back on his heels to nod to her. “I’m just going to make a run up to the ridge to make sure the Santos place is locked up for the night. I’ve only got one more hour on duty. Then I’m going to turn in.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him playfully. “Then come on over after you get back. It’s going to be a cold night. You’re going to need something to warm you up.” Her mischievous eyes sparkled, telling him she had more than coffee in mind.

He paused, kicking the heel of his cowboy boot against the curb, then sauntered to the car and looked down at her. “Sally, honey,” he said ruefully, giving her a slow, wry grin. “Give it up. What do you want with an old man like me, anyway?”

“You’re not an old man,” she said, looking slightly horrified.

His mouth twisted. “I’m charging hard toward forty, and you know it. You can’t be more than nineteen. You’ve got every young buck in the county crazy about you. Choose one of them.”

She pouted prettily. “Sometimes a girl hankers for a man with experience,” she told him, her gaze still flirtatious. “Sometimes those guys just seem so young.”

He laughed. “Pick a young one, Sally. He’s liable to be more trainable. This old experienced male is a little too fargone for you.”

She shrugged, still hopeful, and bit her lip teasingly. “Maybe you just need something special to recharge your batteries.”

He laughed again, drawing back. “No, I’d have to have a complete overhaul to deal with a bright young thing like you. Face it, Sally. I’m just an old bachelor, too set in my ways to change.”

Sally sighed and shook her head, still smiling. “I’m just talking about one evening, Sheriff. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Not yet, anyway. But he only thought that, didn’t say it aloud. It was his experience that women always came around to the marriage thing, no matter how much they protested along the way—almost as though it were something implanted in their blood, something they couldn’t help—any more than he could help his aversion to it.

“Sam says you’ve got a tragic love affair in your past,” she said, not ready to give up at all. “Is he right?”

He wasn’t prepared for that, and whenever anyone blindsided him with the subject, it always took a second or two to steady himself. For a fraction of time, a picture of Janie flashed into his mind. It was more than a picture, really. There was the scent of gunpowder, the sting as one of the bullets crashed deep into the muscle of his thigh, the sound of Janie’s soft cry, the red haze of blood that spattered as she fell. And then he closed it off again. He always did. He never thought about Janie in front of people. He saved that for when he was alone.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing that romantic.” Grinning, he gave her car a slap. “Get on home. A storm’s coming up.”

She gave him one last smile, full of regret, and took off toward her house. Rafe chuckled as he walked on over and got into his car. There was no way he would ever touch that girl, but he had to admit, her little crush on him was good for the old ego.

The tires crunched on the new-fallen snow, and he knew when he got up a little higher, the precipitation was really going to get thick. Good thing he still had on his snow tires. This late in the season, he hadn’t expected another storm before the full spring thaw. But even snow tires were not going to take him all the way to the Santos place if he didn’t hurry.

Turning up toward the mountain, he traveled quickly on a road that hadn’t seen many cars that day. Three years in this area and he still wasn’t used to it—the peace—the wonderful peace. It was the ultimate contrast to the rest of his life. Down in Los Angeles, he’d been a cop in a department under siege—the gang fights, the drive-by shootings, the hatred, the resentments.

There was no hatred up here in Clear Creek. Not that things were perfect. But here, people dealt with each other one-on-one, with some understanding, some willingness to compromise. No one was staking out territory. It was a brand-new world for him, a world he had grown to love. Sure, compared to L.A., it was boring. And that was the way he liked it.

His car climbed high on the winding mountain road and he checked out the Santos place, securing locks on the gates, then started back down, anticipating his bed. Just as he came to the crossroads, something caught his eye—a light, high up on the old forest road.

“Damn,” he breathed, watching it as it moved. Someone was up there, and that road was closed. It looked as if he weren’t going to make it home as quickly as he’d thought. In fact, he might just be looking at a very long night.

Turning his car back up, he headed toward the gatecrasher, and his mood was less than cheery.

She was lost. It had to be near midnight and the snow was getting worse. And she was lost.

This was crazy. She was crazy. Who expected snow this close to spring? But why had she taken that shortcut, anyway? Here she was in the mountains of New Mexico, looking for angles, just like always.

And getting in trouble because of it. That was just like always, too.

What on earth was she doing out here in the wilderness, anyway? She was a city girl, born and bred. She knew all there was to know about navigating the freeways and alleyways of Southern California. She knew very little about icy mountain roads.

She hadn’t seen another car for an hour. For all she knew, she’d driven right out of civilization and into the twilight zone. She let out a small shriek as the car skidded and came to rest turned broadside. Her pulse was beating like a drum as she straightened out her car. Was she going to have to pull over and wait for morning?

Her heart lurched as lights appeared in her rearview mirror. Another human being! Hallelujah.

But then a red light began to flash behind her. The cops. She groaned, half laughing. Every bit of good news had bad news tacked onto it tonight. If he was going to give her a ticket out here in the middle of nowhere…

She pulled over and turned off her engine, sighing, then watched in her mirror as he slowly got out of the police car behind her, holding on to his hat as a vicious gust of wind tried to take it. He looked big and grouchy. Just her luck.

“Hello, Officer,” she said brightly, rolling down her window as he approached the driver’s side of the car. She winced as snowflakes hit her nose with a sting. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see a friendly face. Where am I, anyway?”

Ignoring the question, his dark eyes made a quick inventory of the interior of her car. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, all business.

She hesitated. On this road? Absolutely nowhere. “To a baby shower in Denver,” she said aloud. “Am I going the wrong way?”

Something about the set of his chin told her she wasn’t going to get an answer to that question.

“May I see your license, please?” he intoned evenly.

She swallowed. Not a ticket, on top of everything else. “What was I doing?” she asked, putting off the inevitable.

His dark face didn’t respond in kind to her friendly smile, but he did tell her what he thought. “Driving like an idiot,” he noted calmly.

Her smile became a little more strained. “Have they got a special number in the vehicle code for that now?”

His bland look darkened into a frown. Obviously he wasn’t in the mood for light repartee. “Let me see your license, please,” he repeated, his voice just a shade more steely.

“Okay.” She sighed, resigned. “My license.” She reached onto the floor beside her seat where she always kept her purse. Her hand didn’t contact anything familiar. “Just a second.” She reached under the seat, then looked behind it. A tiny flare of panic began to lick at her throat. Where the heck was her purse?

“Wait a minute. I can’t find my purse,” she said.

“Interesting,” he murmured dryly.

She glanced at him, caught by something in his tone. “No, really, I have it. It’s here somewhere.”

But she still couldn’t find it. Oh, brother. Now what? She thought back quickly. She’d made a stop about three miles ago when the snow had begun to blind her. She’d taken out her map to see if she was on the right road, then had gone back to the trunk to see if there were any chains hiding there. At one point, she’d thought she sensed something falling out into the swirling snow, but when she’d looked she hadn’t seen it again. Now she knew—it must have been her purse falling out of the car.

She gasped. “Oh, my God. I must have knocked it out along the road back about three miles,” she told him. Twisting, she looked at the darkened road and had a quick flashback to a child’s fairy tale, complete with witches and goblins hiding in the shapes of trees. “I…I’ll have to run back and take a look.”

His face didn’t change. “No,” he said firmly.

She blinked at his impassive look. She wasn’t used to this kind of unsympathetic opposition. It did tend to put her back up.

“What do you mean, no? My purse is back there. Someone might pick it up. All my money and my credit cards are in there.”

The cynical glint in his dark eyes deepened. “Listen, lady,” he said evenly. “Don’t bother to try a con on me. I’ve heard them all.”

A con? She almost smiled. She was the last person to try to con anyone. Most of her friends thought she was much too open and forthright as it was. But she kind of liked being thought of as a latent con artist. Still, this was the police. She probably ought to take him seriously.

“Well, I can’t prove who I am,” she told him brightly, pushing back her thick, curly hair with a casual motion that came to her naturally…and often. “But I can tell you, and you’re just going to have to take my word for it. Cami Bishop, from Marina Del Rey, California.”

His mouth twisted. He’d obviously noted her pushing back her hair and thought it an affectation that might even border on flirting. The set of his mouth told her he didn’t succumb to flirting. “A swinging California single, no doubt,” he said, almost sneering.

She squinted, trying to see him better. In the dark, with his hat pulled down low, all she could really make out was a hard mouth cut like a slash in granite and a pair of dark eyes that were colder than the icy wind that was making periodic raids on their position. She hesitated. Something about this man could give a girl chills.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she said, then tried one last grin. “But basically, yes.” And even at that, she couldn’t get a smile out of him. Oh well. “Anyway, I’m on my way to this baby shower…”

“Hold it.” Cocking his hat back, he stared at her for a long moment, then drew away from her window abruptly, as though he’d just thought of something, something that startled him.

“What?” She blinked at him, surprised.

“Just hold on.” he told her sternly, “I’ll get back to you.”

Rolling up her window to keep the snow out, she lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him walk to his patrol car, stamping his boots to clear a path. Why did these guys always seem to swagger? She supposed it was meant to make peons like her stay in line. Too bad. Lines and boundaries had never been her forte.

In a moment, he was back, and she only rolled down the window a crack this time. After all, there was a limit to the amount of snow she was going to let the wind whip in around her. It was freezing and she had no heavy coat.

Why she’d left Santa Fe in only this medium-weight linen suit was a question she would be asking herself later on, along with many others—such as, what sort of an idiot had she been to brave the mountains on a night like this? But that was all waiting for the moment when this trip was over and she would have the luxury of second thoughts and incredulous comments. For now, basic survival seemed more important.

“Get out of the car,” he said, his voice hard and authoritative.

“What?” She squinted, trying to see him better. He sounded meaner than before. And here she’d been hoping for a thaw in their relationship. “It’s snowing!”

“Get out of the car,” he ordered grimly, “face it, and spread your arms out.”

And that was when she noticed he had his gun drawn.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Suddenly things seemed very serious indeed. “What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down the black muzzle of the weapon.

“Get out of the car, face it, and spread your arms out.”

She swallowed hard. He had a bad habit of repeating himself, but she wasn’t about to call him on it now. For one split second, she considered starting up her engine and driving off as though all this had never happened. But that gun was just too ominous. And the snow was just too heavy. And most of all, his face was just too hard and cold.

“Okay,” she said hoarsely. “Just a minute. I’m getting out.”

She put her hands up so he could see she had nothing in them. Wasn’t that what they always did on TV? Then she stepped out, her soft leather shoes sliding a bit on the sleetcovered blacktop. She looked at him questioningly, shivering with the cold, and he gestured for her to turn.

“Spread your arms,” he said softly, but his softer tone seemed even more chilling and she complied quickly, gasping again as he stepped up close behind her and reached out to pat down her sides.

“This is insane,” she said sharply, pulling away from his touch.

“Hold still,” he ordered, taking control of her by the back of the neck the way a cat might a kitten. “And listen carefully to your rights. You have the right to remain silent…”

She shook her head slowly as he went down the list he was obliged to give her. He was arresting her. This was surreal. It couldn’t be happening. She’d just been driving along, on her way to Denver to see old friends and have a jolly time celebrating her college roommate’s new baby. That all seemed innocent enough, didn’t it? Just exactly when had she stepped out of the real world and into this wonderland where everything was upside-down?

It was all so strange. There was a break in the wind, and snow was falling in tiny, glittering flakes, falling silently all around, hitting her face with small, frosty impacts and melting there. It had been years since she’d even seen snow, not since her college days in Northern California, when they’d all packed up the car and headed for the mountains to try out the ski lifts. It always made her marvel how the snow could change the landscape in such a short time and never make a sound. It was like magic—as though some wizard had waved a wand and transformed everything when no one was looking. An enchanted episode.

And so was this whole situation. Was this really happening? Was she in the middle of some off-the-wall nightmare?

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

She sighed and began to shiver uncontrollably. No, she wasn’t dreaming. It was all crazy, but very real.

“This is a joke, right? You’re just trying to scare me.” She half turned so that she could see his face again, look into his eyes, search for a spark of humor. “Hey, I promise. No more speeding, honest. I’ll be a good girl from now on. In fact, I’ll stay away from driving altogether and get myself a chauffeur. How about that?”

He didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes as opaque as ever. “Do you have any questions? Have you understood these rights I’ve just read you?”

She shook her head, feeling silly, and gripped her arms tightly around herself. “I don’t understand anything at all.”

His mouth twisted and he gestured toward her. “Hold your hands out behind your back.”

“What?”

The handcuffs were on before she knew what was happening, and she was so shocked she couldn’t utter a word.

“Let’s go.”

She turned to look at him, aghast. “But why?” she asked weakly, too stunned to fight for the moment. “What have I done?”

“Armed robbery, for starters.” He pointed her toward his car, and she went along in a fog of disbelief, his hand guiding her. “That was in Utah. Arizona said something about kidnapping. Colorado mentioned bunco. And then there was the little matter of a shooting in Laughlin, Nevada. Remember that one?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, dazed. “No!” she repeated more loudly. She stopped, eyes blazing as her spirit revived. She was no criminal. There was a mistake being made. He had to listen to reason. It was silly, really, in a perverted sort of way. Surely he would see the joke if she just explained. “No, this is crazy,” she told him, shaking her head. “I’ve never done any of those things. I’ve never even been to Laughlin.”

“Get in the car.” He held open a door to the back seat.

She stared in at the interior of the car. It looked grotesquely lonely. He couldn’t do this. Could he? She started shaking her head again, backing away. “No, I…”

Reaching out, he gave her an encouraging push that brooked no argument or hesitation. She got in awkwardly, her hands stretched out behind her.

“Okay, wise guy,” she muttered, anger beginning to rise in her. “Okay,” she said more forcefully, turning to look at him, her cheeks bright with the humiliation. “If you think you know so much about me, tell me this. Who do you think I am?”

He flipped up a clipboard from the front seat and scanned it. “Billie Joe Calloway of Fort Worth, Texas,” he read off what he had clipped there. “Twenty-eight years old and good-looking. Five foot six with nice curves. Golden blond hair. Blue eyes. Driving a green Ford Mustang with California plates.” He dropped the clipboard and looked at her. “Now, doesn’t that sound familiar?” he asked her softly, his eyes as cold as an Arctic winter.

If it wasn’t so scary, the situation might have been funny. But right now it would be pretty hard to work up a real, honest laugh out of it.

“I’m thirty,” she said quickly. “And I’m not from Texas. Do you hear even one tiny hint of a Texas twang in. this voice?” But when you came right down to it, the rest fit her to a tee. “I’m not this Billie Joe person,” she said more strongly, glaring at him for emphasis. “You’ve got the wrong woman this time.”