Renegade: Rodeo Knights, A Western Romance Novel (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 5) Page 5

  “Be it ever so humble . . .” Mark opened the bedroom door. The layout was identical to her old one, except it didn’t have the built-in chair or closets. “There are clean sheets in the cabinets under the dinette cushions. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge or pantry. She’s plugged into the rodeo ground’s power and water, so no need to worry about the generator or pump.”

  “Thank you,” Delilah hugged Mark. “I can’t tell you how much this means.”

  “Mmm . . .” He hugged her right back. “Girl, I’m happy to help. You’ve got my cell number, so if either of you need the slightest thing, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “We will.” We. Listen to her—referring to herself and Sawyer as if they were a couple. They had a long way to go before an official reunion. But as far as she was concerned, the mere possibility was her life’s only current bright spot.

  “Thanks, man.” Sawyer shook Mark’s hand. “This is great of you.”

  “No problem. Take good care of her.”

  “I will.”

  Under his breath Mark added, “Noticed you’re carrying. Have plenty of ammo?”

  “Always.” The question felt inappropriate, but this was the West and folks loved their guns. On a whim, Sawyer asked, “How about you?”

  “Absolutely.” Mark raised the hem on his plaid, pearl-buttoned shirt, brandishing a 9mm. “Never leave home without it. Especially, these days. Never can be too careful with a killer on the loose.” He opened the door, then waved. “Y’all sleep tight.”

  Delilah shivered in the artificially cooled air.

  “Want me to turn off the A/C?”

  She shook her head. “I like sleeping with it cold.”

  He moved toward the dinette. Once there, he lifted a cushion. “Let’s make up your bed. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean? You’re not ready for bed? Want to read or watch a movie? As nice as this place is, I’m sure Mark has satellite.”

  She flashed a hopeful smile. “What I meant is that I don’t want you to sleep out here. I can’t be alone. Please, share the bed with me. I promise, I won’t bite—unless you want me to?” That last bit was pathetic. But honestly? At the moment, nothing sounded better than knock-her-boots-off sex. Down and dirty.

  He closed his eyes and groaned.

  “Sorry I asked. It’s not a big deal. I totally understand why you’d want to—”

  “Hush. You talk too damned much. Makes it hard to think.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Of course, I want to share a bed with you, Dee. And the last thing I want to do in that bed is sleep. But I can’t forget that I’m here to protect you—not to screw you.”

  She winced at his choice of words.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. We’re pretty much strangers. You deserve more than a quick roll in the sack. I do, too. If there’s ever going to be another incarnation of us, don’t you think our first time should be special? I mean—”

  “Now, who’s talking too much, cowboy?” She pressed her hands flat against his chest, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his smooth cheek. The other guys at school gave him flack about not having facial hair. She’d always loved the way his skin felt soft against hers.

  Groaning, he hitched his hands low on her hips, skimming them down over her behind and then, nice and slow, back up to the small of her back. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I could ask the same question. But hey, you wanted to keep things platonic, so let’s make up the bed and sleep. Strictly sleep. Sound good?”

  “No.”

  From somewhere inside her, she found her full smile. If only for a moment, choosing to be happy felt good.

  Then from outside came a woman’s scream . . .

  7

  “STAY HERE,” SAWYER said before drawing his gun, then charging out the door. “Lock up behind me and don’t let anyone in—not even Mark, Jersey or Zeb. No one.”

  “O-okay. Stay safe.”

  He plunged into the night, wishing the rodeo grounds had better outdoor lighting in the camping area. On high alert, his pulse pounded. Where had the scream come from? At this moment, was another woman being killed?

  This early in the week, there were no RVs parked within fifty yards of Mark’s. By Friday, the lot would be full.

  Randy had finally departed with Delilah’s rodeo home.

  Safety off, holding his gun to his side, Sawyer stuck to the shadows while trekking closer to the horse trailers. Many riders slept with their horses. There were separate compartments so the cowboys and their horses could both have good rest. Six trailers had been parked side by side. He was by no means a rodeo expert, but Sawyer assumed one belonged to the circuit’s vet. Another to the outfit providing bulls and other stock. Yet another might belong to trick performers or rodeo clowns. Most of the cowboys in smaller circuits kept their day jobs while riding on the weekends.

  From somewhere in the darkness, a woman shrieked. “Stop!”

  Whipping his head in that direction, Sawyer gave chase, running full out, only to stop as abruptly as he’d started. Hunched over to catch his breath, he braced his hands on his knees.

  The potential victim skipped under one of the few lights. She wore a long flowery sundress and her feet were bare. Her long red hair steamed behind as she played a sexy, come hither game of chase with Jersey.

  “Dare you to catch me . . .”

  “Woman . . .” Jersey swigged from whatever bottle he’d cloaked in a paper sack. “You know I never back down from a dare.”

  The chase continued into the shadows of a wooded glade.

  Crickets chirped and the moon hung, full and ripe for romance.

  Sawyer released a long, slow exhale.

  He’d been here one day and already this case was turning him all kinds of crazy.

  Pulse still pounding, he stashed his gun back in his waistband.

  He started the return trek to the RV, along the way delivering a mental beat-down for not having known the difference between a flirty squeal and a near-death scream. All he wanted was to get back to Delilah. Take her up on her offer, burying his every fear and worry so deep inside her that they’d never again see the light of day.

  The closer he got, the more pumped he’d become. He’d taken this case for her. Truth be known, everything he’d ever done had been for her. Did he still love her? It was complicated. All he knew was that despite their full plates of chaos, being around her had somehow become a very good thing.

  About ten yards out, he broke into a jog, only to have his left foot sink into a hole. Off balance, he toppled like a chopped tree. Boom. Instead of lounging with Delilah, he had a mouth filled with dry grass and dirt. His ankle hurt like a mother. His boots were no doubt the only thing that had saved him from a break. For a moment, he remained still, assessing the damage. Aside from getting the breath knocked out of him and probably a sprained ankle and ego, he seemed okay.

  Until the RV’s door popped open and Delilah raced down the steps and over to him. “I saw the whole thing.”

  Swell.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” He pushed up, wincing when his full weight landed on his left foot.

  “Let me help.” She slipped her right arm around his back, pressing her left hand to his abs. Far from helping, her touch created a myriad more trouble. He coaxed his erect Johnson into a lower speed. “We’ll get you inside, then I’ll make an ice pack.”

  “I’m good,” he said. “And for the last time, when I tell you to stay inside, could you please do as I say?”

  “Yes, sir.” After another corndog salute, she left him to open the door, ushering him up the stairs, through the narrow entry and onto the couch.

  He’d never tell her, but it felt good to sit.

  She shut and locked the door, then rummaged for a plastic bag that she filled with ice. She wrapped that in a dishtowel, then lifted his leg onto the cushion. She set her pack besi
de him, rolling up the hem of his jeans. She tugged hard on the heel of his boot, sliding it off before slipping her hands up his calf, inching down his sock. Her warm fingertips worsened his condition—not his ankle, but the swelling beneath his fly. With his bottom extremities exposed, she plopped the bag on his swollen, purple ankle. The cool felt good. It would have felt better over his fly.

  “Thanks.” He wrestled himself into a more comfortable position.

  “You’re welcome.” After tossing him a remote, she said, “Find us a good movie. I’ll make up the bed.”

  “Don’t you want me to help?” His ankle was only sprained. Hell, he’d once field-dressed a gunshot wound, then marched fifty miles through a snake- and guerrilla-infested jungle before seeing a medic.

  “I’m good. You rest. If you’re going to shadow me for the rest of the week, you’ll need plenty of stamina.” Her wink left him wondering just what sort of activities she had in mind . . .

  * * *

  By Saturday night, Sawyer was battling a major case of blue balls and had grown a fond dislike for horses. He’d forgotten how much effort it took to deal with one. Delilah might have preferred Powder Puff, but she cared for Smoky Joe—a chestnut quarter horse—as if he were royalty. Each day after riding, she brushed him and fed him and fussed with his mane and tail.

  While Sawyer sat around the practice arena keeping an eye out for signs of trouble, she’d practiced her barrel patterns long after most normal people would have quit for the day. But he was learning that Delilah was a ferocious competitor—far from the norm.

  He now stood in the staging area, ankle still nagging, waiting with her and Smoky to make their way toward the arena gate. The sun had set, but the air was still and muggy. The scent of smoked brisket and roasting ears of corn competed with cotton candy and popcorn. No one would go hungry at this show.

  “Crowd is too light.” Delilah peered through an opening in the corral. “We don’t have half the normal entries as a typical show.”

  “What happened with Lola had to have turned off fans and riders.”

  “I’m sure. But still, I was hoping it wouldn’t have this big of an effect.”

  Twenty-two girls were competing, all assembled and ready to go upon hearing their name. Delilah explained that they had only a minute to make it from the gate into the arena, or else they faced a forfeit. Sawyer thought his SEAL days were tough, but the pressures facing these women seemed extreme. The time it took to travel to competitions and the money needed to fund those trips were both high. Many riders were students or wives or moms. They raced for the love of horses and speed and the sport. The fact that they all seemed warm and dedicated made the deaths of three of their fellow riders that much more tragic.

  Delilah had fifteen riders ahead of her. The thin press of her lips and her furrowed brow told him she wasn’t at the top of her game. She popped a piece of Juicy Fruit into her mouth and chewed. It was her go-to gum in times of crisis. Funny how she’d leaned on it in senior trig and still used it to this day. Sitting beautifully in her saddle, wearing starched jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt and matching straw hat, she leaned forward to smooth Smoky’s mane. Her boots and belt were black.

  Sawyer had teased her earlier that her silver buckle was big enough to be used for a steak platter. She hadn’t been amused.

  One of the arena gate handlers had called in sick, so Jersey was subbing.

  “Let me through!” A man said from further back in the line. “I have pressing business with the queen!” His words were slurred. In his hand was a beer. “There she is . . .” He sung to the tune of “Miss America.” “The woman who killed my girlfriend . . .”

  “He shouldn’t be back here,” Delilah said.

  Other competitors glared at the stumbling drunk whose bawdy behavior made their horses jittery.

  “Who is he?” Sawyer asked.

  “Cal Ingram. He dated Lola Graham.”

  “That’s him?” Should he call Adam? “He’s not as stocky as I’d expected.”

  “You say that as though you’ve anticipated a run-in.” As a rider left the arena, Delilah moved Smoky Joe up in line.

  Cal kept singing.

  “No. But Adam did give me a heads-up that he’s considered a suspect in Lola’s murder.”

  “He didn’t do it.” She leaned forward, stroking Smoky’s mane.

  “You and I need to talk.” Cal waved his bottle at Delilah. Beer spilled, puddling on the dusty ground.

  “I think you’ve said enough.” Sawyer grabbed the man’s upper arm, intent on steering him away. But Cal wrenched his arm free.

  “You killed Lola,” he said to Delilah. “Why? Because she was a better racer than you. She told me you were jealous. Allllll of you bitches were jealous of my beautiful girl.”

  “Cal, stop,” Delilah said. “I loved her. We all did. You’re drunk and acting like a fool. She would hate seeing you like this.”

  Several other girls nodded.

  “Del,” a blonde said from high atop her palomino, “I’ve got your back, girl. You work twice as hard as any of us.”

  “Thank you, Brandy. Coming from you, that means the world.” Delilah’s eyes shone as if tears lurked behind her forced smile, but she refused to let them spill.

  Cal rambled on. “The only reason you’re even here is because Daddy pays. You’re not a real racer, but a poser. I know you’re the killer. You can’t beat your competition, so you kill them.” He took another drink. “Yep, you’re a daddy’s girl wannabe who—”

  “That’s enough.” Sawyer squeezed his fingers around Cal’s wrist.

  Cal bowed up for a fight, bending his elbow to raise his fist.

  Considering the guy was at least three inches taller than him, Sawyer leaned back from the punch, in the process grabbing Cal’s T-shirt to pull him forward. With momentum in his favor, Sawyer, used his good leg to trip Cal, effectively tumbling him to the ground.

  Smoky Joe reared, backing into another horse.

  A few riders screamed.

  Jersey jogged into the fray. He had a walkie in the back pocket of his jeans. “Nice work.”

  Sawyer shrugged. “Mind using your radio to call for security. Let’s get this punk out of here.”

  “Will do.”

  While Jersey pinned an angry Cal to the ground, the show went on. With nervous riders and even more anxious horses, times were abysmal across the board.

  By the time Delilah had her run, there had been enough toppled barrels and slipped turns that the thin crowd had taken notice, showing their support with oohs and ahhs and increased applause.

  Sawyer stayed close to the arena gate, following Delilah out to the quieter grounds.

  She dismounted, stroking Smoky’s cheek. “You did the best you could, sweetie. Thanks for at least not taking out a barrel.”

  Great. She was talking to her horse, but not to him.

  Sawyer couldn’t keep his comments to himself a second longer. “Those things Cal said to you? You know that was his pain speaking, right?”

  “I don’t know anything anymore. All I want to do is get Smoky brushed and settled in for the night, then go to bed. Maybe things will look brighter in the morning.” She took a wrapper from her shirt pocket to use for spitting out her gum. She dumped the wad in a trash barrel they passed. He admired her for not littering.

  “Of course life looks better in the sun. Plus, it’s a travel day. It’ll do you good to get a change of scenery.”

  She stopped, keeping hold of Smoky’s reins. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to think I’m a coward? Or lazy?”

  “Can’t one hundred percent promise until I hear the whole story.”

  Beneath the shadowy lot light, he caught her glare.

  “I’m teasing. Of course, you can trust me, because with you, neither option could ever apply. What’s up?”

  She started walking again. The chatter and music from the rodeo had faded, making room for crickets and a soft breeze rustli
ng cottonwood leaves. Smoky Joe’s hooves made a happy clip-clop on the hardpacked ground. “I’m thinking of quitting rodeo.”

  “Dee, no. If you do, whoever is behind these murders wins.”

  “I’m just so tired. I know I must sound like the pathetic daddy’s girl Cal accused me of being, but honestly, I’m not sure how much more I can take. The killings, losing my horse, the RV that was essentially my home. This rodeo circuit was my life, but now it feels more like a nightmare.”

  “Come here.” He held out his arms. For too long she stood staring. Afraid of her rejection, he steeled himself for the worst, but then she stepped forward, resting her cheek against his chest. Did she hear his pounding heart? “I think you’re amazing. I know you have the guts needed to see this through. Police will find who’s doing this, and then life will get back to normal.”

  “Not without Powder Puff. This past week, I tried pretending her being gone didn’t matter, but without her in my life, I feel like I’m in mourning. I miss her so bad.”

  “I know.” Holding her, he kissed the crown of her head. “Well, obviously, I can’t truly understand, but know I’m always here for you.” Cupping her cheeks with his hands, he tipped her dear face gently back, urging her to meet his gaze. “I hate that a lie kept us apart, but that’s over. When the killer is found and this case is done, I want the two of us to explore—”

  From the arena’s glow came a commotion. Raised voices, but the words were intelligible.

  “What now?” Delilah asked. “What else could have gone wrong?”

  “Tell you what, let’s get Smoky settled for the night, then we’ll mosey over and find out together. No sense in any of us getting upset over what will probably amount to a fight between two drunk cowboys.”

  “You’re right.” She unhooked the latch on the stable’s door. “And now that we’ve talked, I have at least a little of my appetite back. Let’s grab some of that brisket.”

  “Yes—and the roasted corn.”

  “Deal.”

  While she removed Smoky Joe’s saddle and hung his tack, Sawyer brushed him per her detailed instructions. She then pushed him aside to do more for the horse. Sawyer figured he could go to a spa and not get this much star treatment. By the time the creature had been fed and watered and fussed and cooed over enough that even he was starting to get snippy, Delilah declared him good for the night.