Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

She slid past him and climbed behind the wheel. “Good night, Travis.”

“One last thing.”

She looked up just as he leaned forward. Their faces were mere inches apart. The musky scent of soap, aftershave and sheer manliness attacked her senses, and a riotous surge of attraction made her go weak.

His hand touched her shoulder. “If you ever need to ask me about your friend’s problems—if you ever need to talk about anything at all—call me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and pressed it into her hand.

His voice had lost its threatening edge. His tone was compelling. “I’ll do what I can to help, Faith. You can trust me.”

Finally, he closed her door. She jerked the car into Reverse, backed from the parking space and then sped away. Her insides were shaking. Tears of frustration burned the back of her eyelids.

Trust him. She’d love nothing more than to believe that. Desperation urged her to turn back. Put Travis Dalton to the test. Avoid getting involved with Georgio, a man whose power frightened her and whose dark and forbidden world made her sick to her stomach.

But she’d tried working with the cops first, lost months doing things their way, wasted precious time not knowing if Cornell was sick, in pain, held captive or even...

No. Cornell was alive. She’d find him. She was on the right track now. Trusting Travis would accomplish nothing except to drag Joni into this nightmare.

Far better if she never saw Travis Dalton again, never gave him another chance to mess with her mind or her resolve.

* * *

TRAVIS TOOK A few steps, escaping the cloud of dust Faith left behind in her haste to get away from him. He was one of the best interrogators in the whole homicide department. He could recognize a liar as easily as some people could recognize a guy was bald or a woman was wearing a wig.

And that was with a good liar. Faith Ashburn wasn’t. But he still couldn’t buy that she was a hooker or an addict looking for a way to feed her demon. So what had she been doing at the Passion Pit that night and what really haunted those captivating deep brown eyes?

Travis started back to the party. He’d lost the mood for celebrating, but he couldn’t haul ass without letting Leif know he was leaving. His boots stirred up loose gravel as he neared the sprawling ranch house. Music from the band wafted through the night, competing with the cacophony of thousands of tree frogs, crickets and the occasional howl of a coyote.

Welcoming lights spilled out from every window of the old ranch house. The glow did nothing to make Travis feel more at home, but oddly, he didn’t experience any rancor toward the house or the ranch.

Even more surprising, he didn’t hate R.J., not the way Leif had at first or the way Travis had expected to before he’d met the man. Hard to hate a dying man, even a father who hadn’t bothered to find out if you were dead or alive or being daily abused after your mother died of cancer.

Not hating R.J. didn’t mean Travis gave a damn about him or wanted anything to do with him or the bait R.J. was casting out to lure his estranged family home.

Bottom line: if home was where the heart was, the Dry Gulch Ranch didn’t make the cut for Travis.

He spotted R.J. rounding the side of the house. The old man hesitated, then swayed as if he was losing his balance. Travis rushed over and caught him just as he started to crumple to the hard earth.

R.J. looked up at him, but his expression was blank and he looked pasty and dazed.

Travis kept a steadying arm around his waist. “Do you need an ambulance?”

R.J. raked his fingers through his thinning gray hair and looked up at Travis. “An ambulance?”

“You almost passed out there.”

“Where’s Gwen?”

It was the first Travis had heard of a Gwen. “Why don’t I get you back inside and I’ll see if I can find her?”

R.J. muttered a string of curses. “Just get Gwen. And tell everyone else to go home. Don’t know what the hell all these people are doing here, anyway.”

His words were slurred, difficult to understand. There was no smell of alcohol on his breath, so Travis figured this had to be related to the tumor.

Leif said R.J. had occasional moments when he wasn’t fully lucid, but he hadn’t indicated R.J. totally lost it like this. Could be the tumor had shifted or increased in size.

Travis looked around, hoping to see someone who knew more about R.J. than he did heading back to the house or to their car. No such luck. Everyone was obviously still in the party tent.

“Let’s go inside,” Travis said again. “Maybe Gwen’s in there.”

He began leading the old man toward the back porch. “Just a few yards to go,” Travis said. He walked slowly, supporting most of R.J’s weight. When they reached the steps, R.J. grabbed hold of the railing.

“Take a second to catch your breath,” Travis told him.

R.J. shook his head, then straightened, still a bit shaky. He looked back toward the area where the reception was going full blast and then up at Travis, as if trying to figure out what the devil was going on.

“Did I drag you away from the party?” he asked.

“Nope,” Travis said. “I walked someone to their car and ran into you a few yards from the house. You looked like you could use some help.”

R.J. scratched his chin. “Damned tumor. Can’t make up its mind if it wants to kill me or drive me crazy. Gets me so mixed-up I don’t know if I’m shucking or shelling.”

“Do you want me to drive you to the emergency room?”

“Hell no. Nothing they can do. I’ll just go inside and sit down awhile. Tell Leif that if you see him. I don’t want him worrying about what happened to me while he should be celebrating.”

“Shouldn’t I get someone to come stay with you? You probably shouldn’t be alone.”

“Nope. Tumor’s going to kill me and that’s a fact, but it ain’t gonna rule me. I’m okay now. You go back to the party afore that looker friend of Joni’s you were dancing with hooks up with some other guy.”

So the old man didn’t miss much when he was lucid. “If you’re talking about Faith Ashburn, she’s already left.” Probably to hook up with another guy. Hopefully not one picked up anywhere near the Passion Pit.

“C’mon. I’ll walk inside with you—not that I think you need help,” he added before R.J. could rebuke him. “I could use a glass of water. Then I’ll let Leif know where you are and see if I can find Gwen for you.”

“Gwen?”

“You mentioned her a minute ago.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

“Don’t that just stitch your britches? Far as I know, there ain’t no Gwen around these parts.”

But there had been one wherever R.J. had gone in his mind. By the time they were inside the house, the old man seemed as alert as he had at the start of the evening. He walked on his own to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. Travis reached into the cabinet, took out a glass and set it on the counter for him.

“Join me in a drink?” R.J. asked. “There’s beer or whiskey around here somewhere or you can just get water out of the faucet. We don’t drink that fancy bottled designer H2O around here.”

Sitting around drinking like old friends with R.J. had about as much appeal as being invited to shovel manure out of the horse barn.