Chapter Three #2
Hayden was nudging her to stop, but the words kept coming. “That was no accident! You did it on purpose!”
The man lowered the gun. A slow smile creased his ugly face.
“Prove it, lady. Try to prove it was anything but a fender bender. I’m sorry about the horse, but you’ve got nothing.
” He kicked the broken phone across the asphalt.
“You can have that back. Now get out of here before I decide to make trouble.”
Pocketing his phone, Hayden took Cheyenne’s arm and guided her back through the maze of parked vehicles. Only as they reached the sidewalk did he speak. “Damn it, Cheyenne, you scared me to death. I was afraid we were both going to get shot. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I was furious—the way he was talking, as if he’d done nothing wrong. Do you think you can recover those photos you took?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try. At least I remember the license plate number.
We can give that to the police. But the man was right about one thing.
Unless we can prove he was carrying out a hit, we’ve got nothing.
You’re talking property damage. He dented a rig and injured a horse.
That’s a misdemeanor. And now he’s claiming it wasn’t even his fault. ”
“At least we’ve seen his face,” Cheyenne said. “We can always look at mug shots or work with a sketch artist to find out whether he’s a hit man.”
“Maybe. But again, you’ll have to convince the police he’s worth their time.”
“I hear you. Let’s go check on the horses.
” Cheyenne strode ahead as the barn came into sight.
Hayden’s long legs kept pace with her. Clearly, he seemed to think she should forget the incident on the freeway or leave it to Roper.
But she couldn’t forget what had happened.
And she wouldn’t be at peace until justice had been done.
The inside of Barn A, where the horses were housed, was a sea of numbered stalls, arranged in long double rows.
Concrete pillars rose like trees in a forest, supporting the vast roof, which also sheltered a vet clinic, a feed store, offices for the judges and barn manager, and a double row of wash racks that also served the adjoining Barn B.
A passage on the south side of the barn led to the casino and the hotel lobby.
Cheyenne and Hayden savored the cool air as they entered on the north, from Silverado Ranch Boulevard. The lights had been dimmed, but they could see well enough to follow the stall numbers and find their horses.
Hayden’s cutting horse, a brown-and-white paint gelding, was dozing. He raised his head, instantly alert, as Hayden opened the stall gate and ushered Cheyenne inside.
“This is Steely Dan,” he said. “Best horse I’ve ever ridden. I can’t wait to have you see him in action.”
Cheyenne stroked the silky coat. The horse was in superb condition. “He’s beautiful,” she said.
“Beauty is always a plus,” Hayden said. “But what really counts in a cutting horse is what they call cow sense—the instinct to follow a cow and keep it under control. That instinct can’t be taught. It’s bred into them. Remember that when you choose your own horse.”
“I’ve heard people compare cutting horses to border collies,” Cheyenne said. “Would you agree with that?”
“In a way, I suppose. A smart horse is every bit as intelligent as a dog.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go check on the other horses.”
His touch was warm and supportive as they moved along the row of stalls.
But Cheyenne felt a chill of dread as she braced for what she would find.
Maybe Roper would still be in the barn. That would make things easier.
And they could also tell him about finding the truck and driver at the motel.
But the hour was late, and Cheyenne knew how tired he must be.
When they came to the three stalls assigned to the Culhane horses, there was no sign of him.
Both stallions were traumatized. One in a Million was standing in his stall with his head at the gate. He appeared calm; but he showed the whites of his eyes and flinched when Cheyenne reached up to stroke him. The oats in his feeder hadn’t been touched.
Fire Dance was wild-eyed and quivering. When Hayden, who knew the horse well, spoke to him softly over the gate, the red horse laid back his ears, bared his teeth, and lunged for him.
Hayden stepped back, shaking his head.
“Do you think he’ll be all right to show?” Cheyenne asked.
Hayden sighed. “He’s going to need time. All we can do is hope he recovers before the Run for a Million.”
The stall between the two stallions had been assigned to Millie.
It was empty. The spirited filly, so full of grace and promise, was gone.
Was she still in the vet clinic, scared, confused, and in pain, unaware of the IV needle that would soon end her suffering?
Or was she already lying cold under a canvas, her body waiting to be loaded and hauled away?
Shaking with grief and anger, Cheyenne burst into sobs. She pressed her hands to her tear-blinded eyes, but the flow, like a river in spring thaw, went on.
“It’s all right, Cheyenne.” Hayden’s arms circled her, drawing her in to huddle against his chest. “Go ahead and cry, girl. I’m here.”
He rocked her, his hand massaging her back, his lips nibbling a trail along her hairline. “There … there,” he murmured. “That’s it. Let it go.”
His free hand cupped her chin, tilting her face upward. For a moment, Cheyenne feared he was going to kiss her. “No—not now!” She turned her face away. She liked Hayden, but this wasn’t the time or place.
“Are you all right, Cheyenne?” A familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind her. As Hayden released her, she turned to find Roper standing next to the stall. He looked haggard and drawn, his eyes bloodshot, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
“I’ll be fine.” Cheyenne took the clean handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. “What about Millie?”
“It’s over.” Roper’s voice was drained of emotion. “The body’s on the way back to Texas in a refrigerated van. Lila wants to bury her on the ranch.”
“We found the green semi that hit you. And we found the driver.” Hayden related the incident at the motel, ending with the driver’s dismissive words.
“The hell of it is, he’s right,” Roper said. “We can talk to the police. But if we can’t prove there was a hit involved, this won’t even be worth their time. It’s a damned traffic ticket—a dented rig and a horse that had to be put down.”
“You look exhausted, Roper,” Cheyenne said. “You need to go to your room and get some sleep.”
“You don’t look too chipper yourself, Little Sister,” Roper said. “I need to spend more time with the horses. Go on up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s an order.”
“You’re not here to give me orders,” Cheyenne said.
“You can say that when you’re twenty-one.
Until then, I’m the boss. So get going.” He was teasing her now, coaxing away her tears, something he’d often done when she was growing up.
Roper had been her hero, her protector from the wild antics of her three roughneck full brothers. He still took his role seriously.
“Watch yourself on the elevator,” Roper said. “At this hour, you don’t know who you’ll be riding with or what condition they might be in. Get in with a crowd if you can.”
“For heaven’s sake, Roper, I’m a rodeo girl!” Cheyenne protested. “If I can fend off drunken cowboys, I can certainly make it to my hotel room on my own.”
“I’ll go along and see her safely upstairs,” Hayden offered. “All right, Cheyenne?”
Cheyenne sighed and nodded. More arguing would be childish and a waste of time. She turned away and started for the casino and hotel entrance on the south side of the barn.
Catching up with her, Hayden placed a guiding hand on the small of her back. A jolt of awareness shot through her body. The message was subtle but clear. She willed herself to ignore it. She was too emotional and too tired for any kind of sensible decision.
The casino was a bedlam of noise—the piercing ding-ding of slots, the clatter of roulette wheels, the slap of cards, and the rattle of dice.
The shouts of dealers rose above the blare of country music from the audio system.
Lights flashed. Customers hunched over machines and around tables, crowding shoulder to shoulder.
Armed security guards with two-way radios flanked the doors and slunk like coyotes along the fringes of the crowd.
Cheyenne and Hayden made it to the elevator bank. In response to the button, a nearby set of doors slid open. The elevator was empty.
Cheyenne stepped inside, with Hayden behind her. She laughed as the doors closed. “See? You and Roper didn’t have a thing to worry about. I would’ve been perfectly safe, riding up to the fourteenth floor in an empty elevator.”
Hayden pushed the floor button, then turned toward her. “Who said anything about an empty elevator?” he teased. “I’m here.”
He caught her hands, swung her around, and caught her close.
His mouth captured hers in a deep, demanding kiss.
Cheyenne went rigid, for an instant. Then, with a little moan of resignation, she surrendered, softening against him, opening her mouth to the sensual invasion of his tongue.
She closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to let this happen, but he was kind and gallant, and he knew how to kiss.
After a hellish day, maybe this was what she’d needed.
As his tongue invaded her mouth, her body began to stir—the faint pulsing between her thighs, the pleasant ache as her nipples tightened beneath her bra.
The fingers of his free hand found the hem of her T-shirt and meandered slowly up her back.
His touch sent shimmers over her skin. Her breath quickened.
Was this what she wanted? She was too tired to think.
The elevator stopped with a slight bump.
The doors slid open to reveal a prim-looking matron in a flowered dress with a white lace collar.
Hayden and Cheyenne broke apart as the woman stepped into the elevator.
“Sixteenth floor,” she huffed, giving them a sour look.
“I’d press the button myself, but you’re standing in the way. ”
After Hayden had obliged her, the woman turned to face the doors.
Spine rigid and head held high, her attitude made it clear what she thought of their behavior.
Hayden shifted his gaze to Cheyenne and winked.
Cheyenne suppressed a giggle. This was like a scene from a silly romantic comedy.
She leaned against him, possessed by a strange light-headedness.
The elevator stopped for them at the fourteenth floor. As the doors closed behind them, they clung together in helpless laughter. It felt good. More than good, Cheyenne thought. Tired as she was, she was beginning to feel alive again.
“What’s your room number?” Hayden asked.
Cheyenne recovered her breath. “Fourteen forty-four, down that hallway on the left. Go on. I can make it from here.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. I intend to do my gentlemanly duty.” Offering his arm, he walked her down the empty hall to the room at the end. “Where’s your brother staying?”
“Right across the hall in fourteen forty-five. He thinks he needs to look out for me. He’s as bad as my mother.”
“But you do rodeo. How do you stay safe?”
“I go with my brothers. Not that they care what I do when we’re on the circuit. I’ve learned to look out for myself. That’s one reason I want to do cutting. I’m tired of being babysat. In a few months, I’ll be twenty-one. By then, I want to be on my own.”
“You’re on your own right now. We just saw Roper in the barn.”
“True, but he could be back anytime.”
They had reached the door. As Cheyenne stepped in front of him and lifted her key card out of her shirt pocket, Hayden’s arms slid around her from behind.
When he pulled her against his lean body, she felt the first quiver of fear.
But she willed herself not to resist. She was no fool.
She knew what he had in mind. But maybe it was time.
Maybe letting Hayden make love to her would blot out the memory that had terrorized her dreams for the past two years.
She needed to break free of it. Why not now, with a man she liked and was beginning to trust?
His hands slipped under her shirt and moved upward to cradle her breasts through her bra. Cheyenne’s breath caught. Her pulse skittered.
The key card flew out of her hand.
Landing on its edge, it flipped over and came to rest near the toes of two dusty, well-worn boots. A callused hand reached down and picked it up.
Hayden released her and took a hasty step to one side. Hot-faced, Cheyenne stared down at her feet.
“Here’s your card, miss.” The man spoke with a gruff undertone. Taking the card he thrust at her, Cheyenne forced herself to look up. A sun-weathered face scowled down at her. He was tall, his dark brown hair untrimmed and windblown, his silvery eyes framed in lines of weariness.
His gaze took in her flushed face and rumpled shirt. “Are you all right?” he asked her.
Cheyenne found her voice. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Not every cowboy you meet here can be trusted,” he said with a stern glance at Hayden. “My room is right next door, and the walls are thin. If you need any help, make some noise. I’m a light sleeper. I’ll hear you.”
Was he thinking that Hayden had picked her up on some street corner? She had to admit she looked the part of a buckle bunny, with her tight-fitting jeans and fitted black T-shirt. And after what he’d seen as he came down the hall, what else was he to think?
Should she set him straight? But he was a stranger. She didn’t owe him an explanation.
“This isn’t what you think,” Hayden said. “I was only showing Miss McKenna to her room.”
One dark eyebrow tilted upward in evident disbelief. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you call it. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long drive from Ten Sleep, Wyoming. It’s past this cowboy’s bedtime.” He unlocked his room, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
Still burning with humiliation, Cheyenne turned to Hayden. “I think you should go,” she said. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“Yeah.” Hayden nodded. “That cowboy has a way of spoiling a good time.”
“A way? Does that mean you know the man?”
“Everybody knows him,” Hayden said. “That’s Buck Tolson, the national cutting champion.
I competed against him last spring at Cave Creek.
I was in first place until he came out last and beat me by five points.
But that’s not going to happen again. This time I’ve sworn to beat him—and he’s just given me another reason to leave him in the dust.”