Dead Man's Rules (8 page)

“But you met a guy.” Freeda waved her hands up and down.

“Not met.” She sat up straight as a board and adopted her teaching demeanor as a sober gaze stopped Freeda’s wild gesturing. “I am seeing, well, I’ve been keeping company with an old friend…someone I’ve known for years, before I met your father.”

Cere fought to keep her composure, but before she could reply, a buzzing sounded and her mother reached for her purse. She extracted her cell phone, gave it a shy smile and held up a finger. “Could you excuse me a minute?” She rose without waiting for an answer and walked toward the back of the restaurant.

Freeda grasped Cere’s arm with both hands. “Wow!
Tia
has a guy! She’s doing better than we are.”

Cere couldn’t answer. Was
he
on the phone? Was
he
why her mom insisted they be here so early?

“Something wrong?” Freeda asked.

“No, but why hasn’t she told us about him? Who is
he
?” Her attempted smile felt stiff.

“You need to lighten up, babe. Let me out. I’m gonna check the local paper and see if I can find information about the area.” Squeezing past Cere, she clomped toward the front of the restaurant where several wooden bins held newspapers and brochures. Typical Freeda. She collected brochures everywhere they went. When they came home, she deposited them in a box and never touched them again.

Cere sensed restlessness in both her mother and Freeda. Maybe this trip had been a mistake. She should have convinced them to go to a spa or take a cruise. Or maybe she was the one on edge. But then she was the one with a job in jeopardy.

Still standing, she glanced around the cafe. She’d come hoping to turn this town into a story and so far it didn’t appear promising. But she couldn’t afford to return with nothing. Across the room, a barrel-chested man wearing an apron dotted with food stains waddled through a set of swinging doors. He carried a steaming oval plate which he plopped down in front of a paunchy man seated at the counter.

“Jerry,
muchachos,
try these tamales.” The man held one out on a spatula and then began putting them on the plates of diners at the counter. “Turned out great today.”

A tempting, spicy aroma wafted to the table. Her stomach rumbled. Maybe the burritos were a good idea.

“Oye, amigo. Muy bueno!”
The man identified as Jerry smacked his lips together after tasting the offering.

“Yep, great,” the skinny man next to him agreed.

A strange sensation ran over Cere as she watched the men, a prickling of the hair along the back of her neck. Swiveling, she discovered a pair of eyes, shiny as polished onyx, focused on her. Her heart thudded and she drew back, startled.

The eyes from her dream?

No.
These eyes belonged to a real man and their piercing blackness cut across the short distance between them like sharp edged blades. He sat in a small booth that wrapped around the back wall. Thick black hair curled over his ears. His striking, neatly clipped beard was streaked with thin gray rivers. Deeply tanned, his proud, chiseled face was that of a Native American warrior straight out of central casting for a Hollywood Western. His white cotton shirt outlined large shoulders. A bolo tie held together by a silver and turquoise thunderbird hung loosely at the open neck of his shirt.

He watched her, ignoring the food in front of him. A small plate with half eaten pancakes and a pool of congealing syrup sat across from him, but the other seat at the table was empty.

Cere met his gaze and attempted a smile. During her years at
Scope
she’d grown used to people staring at her or having strangers approach her, but this man’s steady gaze was unsettling.

She pointed at the bolo tie. “That’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

A long finger stroked his beard. “Thanks. My cousin makes them.”

“Do you have his card?” That would make a perfect gift for Alan.

“She doesn’t have cards, but I can put you in touch with her.” The man shifted, appearing uncomfortable. “You’re Cere Medina.”

She nodded. His dark scrutiny made her uneasy.

“You don’t remember me?” As he looked down, his long, feathery lashes swept across one tanned cheek, and she flashed back. He was the boy she and Freeda had the crush on.

“You’re a friend of my cousins. Chico. I met you years ago.” The implication hit her immediately. He led the expedition to the Palladium. Maybe she could get him to take her again so she didn’t have to worry about strange, threatening guys. Maybe he’d do an interview.

He tapped his nose as his lips twitched. “Right on the button. Anything else?”

She blinked.
What did that mean?
Suddenly she was aware of her appearance. Her hair was a mess, tied in a ponytail that threatened to fall. In tank top, shorts and sandals, she hardly looked like a national television reporter.

“Think about it,” he said, gaze steady.

Oh, damn.
That deep voice. She recognized it even as the sun reflected off the badge on his white shirt. She should have guessed it from the moment she found him staring at her. Chico, her old crush, was now Sheriff Rafe Tafoya.

Chapter Eight

Cere stared at the sheriff in disbelief. He was not what she’d expected from their phone conversation. Before she could respond, Lottie returned, her face bright pink. She looked from one to the other and clapped her hands together.

“You’ve met. I’m so pleased. Rafe is my favorite neighbor. His aunt Rosalie was one of my best friends in high school.”

Not anxious to admit their earlier discussion, Cere nodded at him.

Lottie hovered at the edge of the booth. “Hon, I’m sorry, but I need to do something… so I have to run. Josie’s wrapping my breakfast to go.” She reached over, picked up her purse and pulled out a set of keys. “Here are my car keys and this is the house key. I’ll call when I’m done or Millie can bring me home. I hate leaving you girls to eat alone…” She gave the sheriff an expectant look.

He waved at the table and smiled, showing a row of very white, straight teeth. “They’re welcome to join me.”

Cere eyed the half eaten meal. “Looks like you have company.”

“Fickle female. Already deserted me. Please…” His eyes fixed on Cere as he pushed the other dish to the far corner of the table.

“Thanks, Rafe.” Lottie scooped up their water glasses and carried them to his table.

Judging by the quick action, Cere sensed that her mother feared resistance.
No way!
Breakfast with him was a perfect opportunity to get started on her story. He’d been hesitant on the phone, but maybe in person she could convince him to talk. She picked up the coffee mugs and set them on his table, aware of his eyes.

“I’ll take good care of them,” he said with a warm smile.

“Watch out for Freeda. I haven’t told you about her. She’s from the other side of the family and quite a handful.” Lottie glanced around, then back at Cere. “Where is the wild one?”

“Picking up local information.” Cere spotted her cousin coming across the restaurant and waved. Freeda’s hands were stuffed with brochures and newspapers. She drew up in surprise as she approached and saw the sheriff.

Lottie introduced Freeda, and for once Cere was pleased to have her boisterous cousin around. After all, it had been Freeda’s bright idea to call him at midnight. After another apology, Lottie hurried to the counter to get her meal and directed Josie toward their new table. The waitress put down steaming platters as Freeda slid into the booth.

“Yummy.” Freeda dug her fork into the mound of green chili before stopping to look up at the sheriff. “Hey, you hung up on us the other night.”

He looked from one to the other. “I did?”

She turned to Cere. “That’s what you said.”

A sudden unease enveloped Cere. His large presence made her feel small. She offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about the late night call. I’m afraid we had too much to drink.”

“No problem.” His wide grin crinkled the edges of his eyes.

A quick stirring teased her insides and her breath caught. She hated herself for doing it, but she checked his left hand, resting on the table. No wedding band. She dropped her gaze to the burrito, a huge tortilla drenched in a green chili gravy and sprinkled with grated cheese. It sent up a warm, wonderful, spicy scent.

“So you’re friends with my mother?” she asked, picking at the tortilla.

“We have a lot in common. We’re both natives who moved to the city and came back. We help each other re-acclimate.”

Loathe to admit her mother had not said much about her new life, Cere merely nodded and took a bite. Freeda’s assessment was right—yummy.

Her cousin joined the conversation. “What city?”

“I spent seventeen years in Los Angeles. Went away to school and didn’t come back until a couple of years ago.”

“You can survive in this little burg after LA?” Freeda asked.

“It has its good points.” His dark eyes swept around the room. “No rush hour. Easy to get around and everyone knows and looks out for each other.”

Freeda followed his gaze. “Are all these little towns like that? Like Rio de los Muertos? Do you know where that is?”

Content to let her get the sheriff into a talkative mood with rapid fire questions, Cere focused on her food. The burrito was delicious with just the right mixture of eggs, potatoes and spicy pork chili.

Freeda finally smacked her lips and pushed away a clean plate. “That was excellent. I’d heard New Mexico green chili was sublime.”

“Frank makes everything himself from old family recipes. He and his relatives have run this place for fifty years.”

Cere scanned the café, trying to think of a way to bring up what she really wanted to discuss. Behind the counter a black velvet painting of a matador in full swing rang a bell in her subconscious. “I remember coming here when I was young.”

His face lightened, full lips twitching into a smile. “I’d forgotten until a few minutes ago about that visit. Seems I recall a feisty girl who insisted on following the boys around.” His deep voice grew teasing.

“Sheriff Tafoya, are you calling our Cere a tomboy? She’s the only kid I ever knew who refused to wear blue jeans. Corduroy was as close as she got. She preferred frilly dresses and patent leather Mary Janes.”

He laughed, a rumbling sound that caught hold of Cere’s senses and held them. “Actually I was thinking she was brave.”

His comment provided a perfect opening. “You’re talking about the night we visited the Palladium?” She turned to Freeda. “He’s the boy who took us out there.”

Freeda stared at him for a minute as recognition came into her eyes. “Chico! We both had crushes on you.”

He lowered his eyes, lashes flickering across his cheek. “You had to be ten years old.”

“I was twelve,” Cere corrected, wishing she could kick her cousin. “That night scared the hell out of us.”

He laughed, a warm rich sound that shook her insides worse than the thought of ghosts. He sat back on his seat. “Is that why you called me? To see if I remembered that night?”

Cere toyed with her fork, deciding how to proceed. She lifted her eyes to his, offering him the smile she used to win over reluctant interview subjects. “I was serious. I want to do a story on Marco Gonzales.”

“She’s gotta do it.” Freeda began to giggle. “That ghost is after her.”

His smile grew stiff and he shook his head. “Sorry, but you won’t get any information from me.”

“I read a story in the Santa Fe paper that quoted you,” Cere said. “You spoke to Gary Riggins. Why not me?”

A sudden shadow crossed his face and his dark eyes glittered. “I realized I made a mistake. I’m sorry the story got written.”

Despite the reluctant tone, Cere refused to back down. She met his steely gaze. “Do you ever go out there?”

“To chase kids away. The place is ready to fall.”

Perhaps the time had come to try another approach, the understanding reporter. “You’re quite the protector,” she said with her most brilliant smile, pointing at his badge. “My mother, kids…”

He seemed to relax too as his lashes lowered like a dark feather and he winked. “I suppose you could say that. But what can I say? It’s my role in life. The kind of guy I am.”

His lopsided grin made her insides perform a wild flip. Was he flirting? Under the table, Freeda tapped her shin with a quick kick. She obviously thought so, but Cere wanted to warn him off trying to charm her. He’d matured into a fine looking man, but she didn’t have time in her busy life for a small town sheriff. Still, she wasn’t going to discourage him… not yet.

“You should help her,” Freeda said.

The sheriff looked from one to the other with a puzzled smile. “Why?”

“I told you. Marco the ghost is asking her for help. She has to report on it, or he’ll keep stalking her.”

Rafe jerked upright and put down his coffee cup with a thump. “That’s not funny.” He could tell from the startled look on Cere’s face that she was dismayed by her cousin’s comments. She turned and muttered something to Freeda as Josie provided a welcome break, arriving with fresh coffee.

Cere’s quick smile of thanks sent an unsettling awareness surging through him. Until the subject of Marco came up, he’d enjoyed the conversation. Freeda was off the wall, but Cere…

He drew a deep breath, shaking off the unwelcome sensations that invaded his body. This wasn’t healthy. What the hell was he doing? Flirting with her? No, he was being preachy, as his mother put it. Was that the impression he wanted to give her?

He’d been prepared to dislike her from the moment she marched into the café, giving off that brittle, “look at me, I’m gorgeous and rich” look. Having dealt with pampered and spoiled women for years, he pegged her as the type to expect everything to revolve around her.

When she turned her attention to him with unexpected force, she’d nailed him to the wall. No, it was more like a bug pinned to a scrapbook page.