Chapter Three
Cheyenne had shared a pizza with Hayden in a noisy restaurant a few blocks from the arena complex.
Hayden had offered to take her to an upscale place downtown, but after the incident on the freeway, she was too emotionally drained to enjoy good food.
She was also worried about the horses. They were Roper’s responsibility, but she loved all horses, and she cared deeply about these three animals.
Roper had phoned her about the decision to euthanize Millie.
Cheyenne had seen the injury. She had been around horses all her life, and she understood why it had to be done.
Still, she was heartsick. The beauty, the talent, the training, the hope, and the innocence of a young animal, all lost for nothing. She burned with silent anger.
She and Hayden had walked to the restaurant by way of a side street.
Now they took a different route back to the equestrian complex, a narrow shortcut connecting a shabby motel, a shuttered pawnshop, and a couple of dimly lit bars.
Beyond the jagged line of rooftops, the lights of Las Vegas gleamed like distant stars.
Cheyenne might have been nervous walking this way alone, but with Hayden at her side, she felt safe enough.
They chatted comfortably on the way. Hayden was easy to be with. Cheyenne found herself liking him more and more. But she hadn’t come to Las Vegas for romance. Hayden Barr was her ticket to a new career.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your family.” He guided her along the uneven sidewalk with a touch at the small of her back. His eyes kept a sharp lookout for any moving shadows. “Will they be coming to watch your brother compete in the Run for a Million?”
“Some of them plan to be here. Just so you’ll know, Roper’s my half brother. His father died in a rodeo when he was young. Our mother remarried another rodeo rider and had the rest of us—me and my three brothers.”
“So you’re the only girl?”
“That’s right. And rodeo’s in our blood.
My father was crippled by a bucking bull.
He’s been in a wheelchair for as long as I can remember, dribbling Jack Daniel’s into his coffee to dull the pain.
He’s part of the reason I want to break out of the pattern.
Even though I don’t ride buckers, my luck might not last forever.
I worry about my brothers every time they ride out of the gate. ”
“What about your mother?” Hayden asked. “Is she anything like you?”
“Hardly!” Cheyenne forced a humorless laugh.
“My mother is a saint! She can quote whole chapters of Scripture from memory. And she lives every verse. Not that I’m complaining.
She raised us to be decent and respectable.
She cooks great meals from scratch, on a shoestring.
The house is so clean you could eat off the floor; and she’s taken care of Dad without help for years.
I respect my mother. But, believe me, I wouldn’t be like her for all the golden thrones in heaven! ”
Hayden chuckled. “So will I get to meet this amazing lady?”
“Probably. She dotes on Roper, and I know she wants to watch him ride. I think my brother, Stetson, is planning to drive her to Vegas. If she comes, she’ll be sharing my hotel room.”
Cheyenne could have bitten her tongue. Why had she mentioned the room? Was she sending a subconscious message—that if Hayden wanted to sleep with her, he’d have to move fast? Heaven help her, that was the last thing she’d intended. She lengthened her stride, moving ahead of his guiding touch.
“And what about the rest of your family?” he asked. “Will they be coming?”
“Rowdy and Chance will be out on the circuit. I don’t know about my dad.
He’d be hard to bring, but if he stays home, he’ll need somebody to stay with him.
What about your family?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I know your father will want to see you compete and see Roper show Fire Dance. Will there be others?”
“Nope. Just me and my dad. My mom died of cancer when I was”—he took a breath—“when I was fourteen. That would be eight years ago. Dad’s had a few women in his life, but he never remarried, so there’s just the two of us.
He’ll be coming in a day or two. He flies his own plane, so I can’t be sure when he’ll get here. ”
“That’s interesting about your dad. Do you fly, too?”
“I do,” Hayden said. “But the horses don’t. I drove here with my cutting horse, Steely Dan. And I’ll be driving him back to Texas with Fire Dance after the big show’s over. I just hope Fire Dance will be fit to compete.”
They were passing the motel, a two-story stucco building with a walkway along the second floor and a moldering pool out front. A row of lights along the roofline cast shadows over dimly lit parking lot.
The orange neon NO VACANCY sign in the office window sputtered on and off, but the vehicles that crowded the parking lot—mostly older cars and pickups, a couple of farm wagons, and a bobtailed semitruck—made it clear that the rooms were full.
A scantily clad woman, tucking cash into the pocket of her cut-off shorts, slipped out of an upstairs room and descended the stairs.
As the light caught her face, Cheyenne could see that she wasn’t a young girl.
Maybe she had children at home. Or maybe she just needed drug money.
As the woman vanished among the vehicles in the parking lot, Cheyenne’s gaze fell on the bulky outline of the semi, parked without a trailer, at the far end of the lot.
Her pulse lurched as she recognized the squared lines of a Peterbilt—a common enough truck.
But what were the chances that it could be green?
What she was imagining was next to impossible. There had to be hundreds of Peterbilts, even green ones, on the road. But Cheyenne knew she couldn’t pass by without a closer look.
Hayden caught her arm as she stepped off the sidewalk. “Whoa! Where are you going?”
“That truck!” She strained against his clasp. “It could be the one. I need to check it for damage.”
“You mean the one that sideswiped your rig?” He pulled her back onto the sidewalk.
“What are the chances, Cheyenne? That semi could be anywhere by now. Damn it, even if you’re right, that parking lot could be dangerous, especially for a pretty young woman like you.
You don’t know what—or who—could be out there. ”
“Are you coming with me or staying here?” She twisted free and started back into the parking lot.
With a muttered curse, Hayden caught up with her. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
They wove their way among the parked vehicles, Hayden guiding the way with the flashlight on his phone. There was little human activity at this hour, but the crumbling asphalt was littered with cigarette butts, spots of chew, and occasional drug needles. A rat scuttled across their path.
Under light, the Peterbilt truck was green, just as Cheyenne remembered. If it had sideswiped the trailer rig, any damage sustained would be on the passenger side of the cab. Heart pounding, she directed the beam of Hayden’s phone light.
There it was. The outside edge of the heavy bumper, which had caught the side of the blue Dodge pickup, was streaked with blue paint, as was a shallow scrape along the passenger side door.
Cheyenne’s pulse broke into a gallop. “This is the one!” she whispered. “This is the truck!”
Hayden began taking pictures with his phone—closeups of the damage and the license plate and shots of the entire vehicle.
He was doing his best to help. But as she watched him, the memory of the crash surged afresh—the roar of the semi and the scream of metal, the fear of hanging over the edge of the road, and the terror for the horses.
Because of this truck, and its driver, a precious filly would pay with her life.
Cheyenne’s roiling anger heated into rage. If she’d had a crowbar or a pickaxe, she would have shattered the glass and mutilated the metal. If she’d had a knife, she would have slashed the tires. All useless. Nothing could undo the harm that had been done.
Hayden had almost finished taking photos when the glaring beam of a flashlight, blindingly bright, froze them where they stood. As their eyes adjusted, the stocky figure of a man in jeans and a black tee came into focus. One hand held a powerful flashlight. The other hand aimed a revolver.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The gritty voice was a match for his pudgy, brutal-looking features. Cheyenne could sense his flinty eyes taking their measure. Neither she nor Hayden had a weapon. The man could shoot them both, right here.
He fixed his gaze on Hayden. “Put your phone on the ground and kick it toward me.”
When Hayden hesitated, the man’s voice dropped to a growl. “Do it, mister. And no tricks, or I’ll shoot your girlfriend. She won’t look so pretty after that.”
Hayden did as he was told. Keeping the gun aimed, the man crushed the phone with a stomp of his thick-soled motorcycle boot.
Would he really fire that gun? Not likely, Cheyenne reasoned.
He might be a hit man—and probably was. But this wasn’t a contract situation.
He had nothing to gain and everything to risk by shooting a couple of nosy strangers.
Still, she couldn’t be sure enough to make a move. And there was Hayden’s safety to think of as well as her own.
His gaze shifted to Cheyenne, eyes narrowing. “Hey, I know you, girl. You were in that horse rig that blocked me on the freeway out of Kingman. I could barely get around you. Tell your driver he should’ve been more careful. He could have caused a bad accident.”
Cheyenne’s temper flared and erupted.
“An accident!” Heedless of the danger, she spat out the words. “We were in the outside lane. You had plenty of room to pass. But you moved over and crowded us off the shoulder. You almost killed us! And a beautiful horse will have to be put down because of you.”