скачать книгу бесплатно
“Susie? It’s Dixie,” she hollered, stepping into the shop.
“Be right down!” Sandals clacked against the stairs that led to an apartment above the store. Susie greeted Dixie with a smile. “You look good.”
“I do?”
The older woman moved closer and studied Dixie’s face. “Your skin is glowing.” Susie dropped her gaze to the wicker basket in Dixie’s hand. “Which one made your complexion so radiant?”
She’d used the same olive soap this morning that she’d washed with the past three years and until today no one had ever used the word radiant to describe her.
It’s because you’re pregnant.
Dixie set the basket on the counter and selected the organic peppermint soap. “This is what I’m using.” She held the bar beneath Susie’s nose.
“That smells amazing. What’s in it?”
“Sunflower, palm, coconut and peppermint oils.” Along with wheat and barley grass, alfalfa, parsley and grapefruit-seed extract. “I also brought along a Christmas soap I’m experimenting with.” Dixie handed Susie a star-shaped bar.
“How pretty. I love the threads of red and green that run through the soap.” She sniffed. “Pine boughs, fresh fruit and spices. Very nice.”
“I was hoping you’d consider using a display instead of leaving the soaps next to the register.”
“I won’t know if I have room for a stand until I finish stocking the Christmas merchandise,” Susie hedged.
Dixie’s soaps were available in other stores along Main Street, but Susie’s Souvenirs was the most popular tourist shop in Yuma and Dixie made more money here than the other places combined. “Can you find room if I pay you a fifteen-percent commission instead of the usual ten?”
“What else did you bring?” Susie peered inside the basket.
“Eucalyptus and spearmint.” Dixie lined up the soaps on the counter. “Lemongrass. Desert Sage. Oats and Spices.” Each bar was a unique shape wrapped in colored tissue paper and a frilly ribbon with a hand-stamped label—Dixie’s Desert Delights, Inc. $6.99.
“I’ll find room for a display.”
“Thanks, Susie. I put extra business cards at the bottom of the basket.”
“I’ll give you a jingle when inventory gets low.”
Dixie could only hope she’d sell all forty bars before Christmas.
* * *
WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?
Gavin stood in the dark shivering. He knew he was in the desert, because coarse grains of sand pricked his feet. But where in the desert? And what had happened to his weapons? He wore nothing but his sweat-soaked fatigues. The booming sound of a rocket-propelled grenade sent him running, his lungs burning with each gasp of air.
The target exploded in the distance and streaks of bright light lit up the night sky.
Nate! Nate, where are you?
Gavin glanced over his shoulder and a second explosion illuminated the darkness. In that instant of clarity Gavin spotted Nate a hundred yards behind him.
Run, Nate! Catch up!
Something wasn’t right—Nate wasn’t moving. Gavin turned back, determined to reach his friend, but with each step, his feet sank deeper into the ground as if the desert had turned into an ocean of quicksand.
Nate reached out his hand for help and time passed at a crawl as Gavin pressed forward, muscles burning, sweat stinging his eyes. Fifty yards from Nate another explosion rent the air and suddenly half of Nate disappeared. Gavin stared in horror. Where were Nate’s legs?
A thud hit the ground by Gavin’s combat boot. He looked down. Half buried in the sand was Nate’s leg.
Gavin woke with a start and bolted from the motel bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, ran the cold tap and splashed his face, choking on the water that hit the back of his throat.
Damn it.
He lowered the toilet cover and sat with his head in his hands. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in weeks. Why now?
Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.
Or maybe you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.
Whatever the reasons behind his recurring nightmares, as long as Gavin ignored them they’d eventually go away.
* * *
“ANOTHER TOUGH NIGHT for Gavin Tucker,” the announcer said at the Growler Stampede Rodeo in Growler, Arizona.
Gavin picked himself up and dusted off his jeans, then waved his hat at the crowd as he jogged out of the arena. Dumb bronc. Thunder Rolls had tossed him on his head as soon as he’d cleared the gate. Ignoring the twinge in his wrist, Gavin stuffed his gloves into his gear bag.
“Better luck next time, soldier.” Mitch Farley, a Colorado rancher approached.
Gavin shook hands with the retired marine. Mitch’s son had been stationed with Gavin in Afghanistan. “How’s Scott? Still overseas?”
“Yep. He’s coming home for Christmas.” Left unsaid…if he doesn’t get killed first.
“What are you doing in Arizona?” Gavin asked.
“Drove down with a neighbor to watch his nephew compete in bull riding.” Mitch cleared his throat. “What made you decide not to reenlist?” The older man had spent twenty-five years in the military before taking over the reins of his family’s cattle ranch.
Gavin didn’t mind discussing his military career with fellow servicemen and women, but he didn’t care to share the information with his rodeo competitors. He grabbed his gear and motioned for Mitch to walk with him. “After Nate got killed nothing was the same over there.” Nate had been Gavin’s best friend. They’d gone to high school together and had joined the army on a whim.
“Is it true one of the villagers you were helping planted the roadside bomb?”
“Yeah.” After that day, the goodwill Gavin possessed toward the Afghan people had died a quick death. Gavin thought of the sacrifices he and Nate had made while living in the hostile region. And for what? Nate had given his life and Gavin couldn’t shake the dreams that had followed him home.
“You did good work in Afghanistan, son.” Mitch clasped Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t let one idiot take that away from you.”
“After Nate died—” Gavin shrugged off Mitch’s touch. The last thing he wanted was pity “—I knew I wasn’t going to be any use to the army, so I checked out.”
“What about a military position stateside?”
Staying in one place wasn’t an option. Keeping on the move was the only way Gavin felt as if he could breathe. “I wanted a change.”
Mitch chuckled. “Getting your ass kicked by a wild bronc sure is a change.”
“It’ll come back to me.” Gavin and Nate had competed in rodeos throughout high school and during their military leaves, but admittedly Gavin was rusty and needed a heck of a lot more practice before he’d become competitive.
“You can’t rodeo forever. You got a plan B if you end up injured?”
“Not really.”
“When you get ready to call one place home, come see me. I could always use a good ranch hand.”
The word home generated an uncomfortable feeling in Gavin. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. “Nice to know there’s a place to hang my hat if I need one.”
“Take care.” Mitch walked off.
Now what? The next rodeo on Gavin’s schedule was in Chula Vista, California—a week from today. He should hit the road but a sixth sense warned him not to be in a rush to leave the Grand Canyon State. His years in the military had taught Gavin to never ignore his instincts.
He chalked up the doom-and-gloom thought to his recent nightmare. He sure in hell didn’t want a repeat of that terrifying hallucination. Maybe a drink would settle his nerves and numb his brain while he listened to eight-second stories. The one thing he missed about the army was the camaraderie of fellow soldiers.
“Hey, Waters.” Gavin called across the parking lot. “Where’s everyone hanging out after the rodeo?”
The calf roper tossed his gear into the back of his pickup. “Mickey’s. A few miles east of here.”
“Thanks.” Gavin got in his truck and checked his cell phone for messages. None. A short time later he parked at Mickey’s. Standard cowboy bar—a dump, save for the fancy red door. Neon beer signs brightened the windows, reminding Gavin that he was hungry and thirsty.
The smell of sweat, spilled beer and cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils inside. A thirty-foot bar sans stools stretched along one wall behind which a pair of bald, tattooed bartenders filled drink orders. The rest of the place was crowded with mismatched tables and chairs.
A country-western song wailed from the jukebox as Gavin zigzagged through the maze of rowdy cowboys. “Bud Light.” He tossed a five-dollar bill on the bar.
“You win or lose today?” asked the barkeep with a snake tattoo slithering up his neck.
“Lost.”
“Tough draw?”
“Not really.” He took his beer and strolled through the crowd listening to a country ballad of love gone wrong. Why the lyrics made him think of Dixie he had no idea. He’d regretted making love to her, even though it had been a long time since he’d been intimate with a woman. If only the taste of her bold kiss hadn’t drowned out the warning voice in his head.
He’d had a hunch he was the first cowboy she’d ever had a one-night stand with. Thank God she’d had a condom in her purse, because Gavin’s protection had been out in the glove compartment of his truck.
He moseyed over to a table near the dartboard where a pair of inebriated cowboys tried to hit the target.
“Hey, Kramer!”
Gavin’s senses went on high alert when he recognized the gravelly voice—Johnny Cash. He tuned his ears to the conversation behind him.
“You see my ride?” Cash asked Kramer.
“Yep. Too bad you didn’t win.”
“Sanders drew a better bronc,” Cash said. “You got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“You were at the Boot Hill Rodeo this past July, weren’t you?”
“I bit the dirt on Short Fuse.” Kramer chuckled. “Your sister rode a bull in that rodeo, didn’t she?”
Gavin tensed.
“Speaking of my sister,” Cash said. “Were you at the Spittoon that night after the rodeo?”
“Sure was.”
“You happen to see who my sister left the bar with?”
“If I did, I can’t remember.” Then Kramer asked, “Wasn’t Dixie supposed to ride in Piney Gorge this month?”
“Yeah. She withdrew.”
“Your sister plan to do any more bull ridin’ in the future?”
“Not for nine months.”
The blood drained from Gavin’s head and pooled in his stomach, making him nauseous.
Kramer lowered his voice. “You sayin’ some guy knocked her up after the rodeo?”
“Yep, that’s what I’m saying. I’d like to find the jerk and wring his neck.”
“If I hear any rumors, I’ll be in touch,” Kramer said.
“Thanks. And, Kramer?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep this to yourself.”
“Sure. No problem.” Kramer headed to the bar and Cash followed.
Gavin didn’t give himself time to think; he bolted for the door. Once outside, he cut across the parking lot, hopped into his truck and headed south. After he’d driven an hour he could no longer suppress his anxiety. He pulled off the road, turned on the flashers then left the truck and started walking.
The longer he walked the lower the sky fell and the higher the ground raised, compressing him until each breath felt like he was sucking air through a straw.
Damn his frickin’ intuition. If he’d ignored his sixth sense, he’d have been on the road to Chula Vista by now and been none the wiser about Dixie’s condition.
Chapter Three
Gavin pulled up to a pump at the Chevron station in Stagecoach. The sudden downpour he’d driven through ten miles back had left behind a rainbow in the sky, and the smell of steamy pavement and wet clay permeated the air. He filled the gas tank, then entered the convenience store.
“Howdy.” A slim man with gray whiskers and a toothy smile greeted Gavin. “Passin’ through or visitin’?”
