Desperado: Deep in the Heart, Book 2 (10 page)

Flower children of the sixties. Constant traveling with a basement band. As a baby, she’d slept in dresser drawers and the back of numerous rickety vans. She’d had an assortment of “uncles” and “aunts”, all smiling at her sheepishly before they went back into her parents’ bedrooms. Free love. Baggies of marijuana, needles, unclean smells. Home was where the heart was. Her home had only been herself out of necessity. Self-reliance kept her sane while she watched cartoons on old TVs in rooms disturbed by flickering strobe lights.

She shuddered, sitting upright in the tub. Thank heaven Cody hadn’t taken her to a hospital. She never wanted to be in one again. Hospitals, sanitariums—soul suckers. The one trap she’d desperately sought to avoid—being a useless dropout like her parents—had nearly closed its steel metal teeth on her when she’d become addicted to prescription drugs. That time, she’d fought her way out of the hellhole. But if Cody had taken her to the hospital and they’d given her anything for pain, she might have started needing again—and the hard, clutching fingers of panic would grip her. She might not overcome it again.

“Stormy! Are you all right?” Banging erupted on the door, jerking her out of the past. Her heart beat wildly.

“I’m fine!”

“Well…you’ve been in there for thirty minutes. Not that I mind, but I was getting worried.”

“Don’t break the door in, Cowboy. I’m coming out.”

She let the water out and dried herself off. Quivers hit her legs as she slipped on a robe Carmen had lent her. “Oh, my gosh,” she muttered, pulling open the door. “I feel like a brand-new kitten.”

He scooped her up, placing her gently on the bed. “See? You should have let me help you. But you’re a stubborn woman.”

“Buzz off,” she forced herself to whisper.

He loomed over her, chuckling. “I brought you some plain toast. Maybe that will help.”

Struggling to sit up, she took a nibble. “I don’t know if I can do this, though I appreciate the effort.”

“Try. And Ma’s going to make you some broth for lunch.”

Sighing, she moved her hair off her shoulders and concentrated on the triangle of toast.

“Here. Let me get that out of your way.”

He reached to grasp her hair in his hands. Stormy opened her mouth to protest.

“Be still. It’s too wet for you to be comfortable.” He strode from the room before coming back with a blow dryer.

“Cody,” she protested weakly, but he’d already plugged it in and pointed it her way. In a few minutes, her hair was dry.

“Here.” He pulled her hair into a fast braid, sending shivers all over her body that had nothing to do with her feeble state. “That should make you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, not certain if she liked the big man braiding her hair. “I look like you now, I guess.”

“No.” He shook his head at her, his expression thoughtful. “You don’t.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, and the look in his eyes was one she hadn’t seen before. He shouldn’t have touched her; they shouldn’t be alone in this room together. There was too much heat and it wasn’t left over from the blow dryer. He moved his hand to smooth her hair and tingles raced all across her skin.

“Where’s your mother?” she whispered, hoping Carmen was just down the hall. Cody’s eyes were focused on her in an expression she recognized as male hunger. She knew he wouldn’t take advantage of her weakened state in his house—but was that what she wanted?

“Gone to the market for a few things,” he replied in a husky voice.

“I see.” Her eyes lowered under his intense scrutiny as she cast around for a topic they could discuss that would disarm the emotions she felt building inside. “Have you always lived together?”

“Since my father died, yes. My mother talked about getting a place of her own, but then my brother died some years back. She doesn’t talk about getting a place of her own anymore.” He wouldn’t release her gaze. “She is older now. I think she’s happy sticking close to home.”

“I…understand,” Stormy said on a whisper.
Because you make me feel safe and secure, except at this moment.
“Don’t you have some…cows to feed or something?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

He didn’t quite smile, but she thought he was amused. “Not exactly. I might fall asleep, though.” She put the toast back on the plate and moved it to the nightstand to emphasize her intentions.

“Go to sleep, then.” He backed away from the bed. “Rest well.”

A second later, he was gone. Irritably, Stormy stared at the door he’d closed behind him. How in the heck was she supposed to sleep well—when it had suddenly occurred to her that, if it felt wonderful just for Cody to hold her, how much more wonderful would it be if he made love to her?

Chapter Seven

Two minutes later, Mary came into the bedroom. “Stormy? Are you awake?”

Stormy forced herself to sit up although the after-effects from the nausea still made her weak. “Barely. Come on in.”

“Uncle Cody says you went to eat in Shiloh. He says you got sick.” Mary’s eyes were wide as she stared at her. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Muscles ached in her body where she hadn’t known she could ache. Her throat was sore. Even her back hurt. “If you’re going to warn me not to eat there anymore, don’t worry. I wouldn’t if I was starving.”

Mary shook her head, puzzled. “I don’t know why the food there is so bad. Uncle Cody says it’s because the people are liars and cheats.”

“Can liars and cheats survive salmonella?” Stormy asked wryly.

“He says it doesn’t affect them because they have no conscience, and therefore must lack stomach. No, he calls it gut. They lack gut.”

“Hm.” Stormy wasn’t surprised by Cody’s theory. He had made it clear that he didn’t like Wrong-Way, but apparently, feeling strongly against Shiloh and its mayor didn’t make him more disposed to giving her the deal she wanted. His land—off-limits. She sighed, knowing it wasn’t going to happen. Cody was never going to bend. “Oh, my gosh. I’ve got to call my manager. Mary, is there a phone I can use?”

“Yeah. Let me get it for you.”

Stormy expected a portable to be brought to her room, but Mary dragged an old black phone from across the hall, its long cord pulling taut on the carpet. “Thanks,” she said.

“I’ll leave so you can talk.”

“Thanks,” Stormy said again, her mind now on the call she had to make. Pulling a calling card from her purse, she dialed the number.

“Jonathan. It’s Stormy.”

“Where have you been? I’ve called your hotel room five thousand times, luv!”

“Sorry. I got sick, and a friend brought me to his house.”

“Oh, really. How nice of him. Love is the best medicine and all that.”

“Hardly.” Stormy injected ice into her tone. “It was either come here with his mother so she could look after me, or go to the hospital.”

“You sound all better now.”

His patronizing tone grated her nerves. “I am. I think I’ve decided on Shiloh, Texas, for the shoot. The mayor is anxious for us to come there; the land looks good. Not as great as here, but I can’t get these folks to budge.”

“Oh, Stormy, luv.” Jonathan hesitated a moment. “I’ve got some bad news.”

Sinking hit her stomach with a green-tinged wave. “What?”

“Well, when we couldn’t find you—I mean, it had been a couple of days—the folks with the bankrolls were afraid there was a problem.”

“You assumed I was taking some side trips into the pharmacy.”

“You knew we had a deadline, you knew we stood to lose some big stars, Stormy! So when we didn’t hear from you and couldn’t reach you, they called in Rhonda Harlow. There was nothing I could do.”

“Then I’m…” The sinking sensation turned into a sinkhole.

“Fired. I’m so sorry, luv. But what could I do? My hands were tied.”

“A position I’m sure you enjoyed very much,” she snapped, hanging up the phone. “Damn it!” What in the heck was she going to do now? She had no job, no prospect of another one, and a new black mark on her record. She’d failed on her last chance.

Slowly, she pulled her hair out of the braid, letting it wave around her shoulders. It was time to get dressed, go back to the Stagecoach, and say goodbye to Desperado. There was nothing else she could do.

“Stormy? Are you off the phone?” Mary peeked around the door again.

“Yes.” She watched as the teenager came into her room. “Where’s your uncle?”

“Riding fence. He’ll be back this afternoon.” Mary’s eyes looked longingly toward a flowered bag which sat in a chair, on top of some clothes. “Is that your makeup?”

Stormy’s eyes widened. Obviously, Cody had made a trip to her hotel room to get her a change of clothes and her cosmetic bag. “It seems to be.”

She got up to look at what he’d brought her. How thoughtful. This was the last thing she’d ever expected from the stoic rancher.

“Can I try on some of your makeup?”

“Sure,” Stormy said sadly, as she took the clothes into the bathroom so she could change. “Help yourself.”
I’m kinda going to miss him, now that I have to leave.
Even as the words strayed across her mind, she realized how ridiculous the longing was.

But she’d never met anyone like him.

Fifteen minutes later, Cody knocked on the door, striding in as soon as he saw Mary in Stormy’s room. “What in the hell do you have on your face?” he demanded.

“Stormy’s makeup. Don’t you think I’m pretty?” Mary’s lip wobbled.

He forced himself to slow down and take a deep breath. Obviously, Mary thought she’d made an improvement in her looks. It was important that he remember she was in a struggling phase of her life. “Ah, it looks nice, ladybug,” he lied through his teeth, “though I must admit I like you better with, um, just a little less on. I do like to see my pretty girl’s face.”

Mary appeared unconvinced. “You sound kind of smooth, like Wrong-Way Higgins.”

“Well, I—” He faltered at her perception.

“Uncle Cody,” she said sternly, with her hands on her hips, “you can’t fault other people for fibbing if you’re going to do it. And you can’t get on to me for it, either.”

“Hold on a minute, ladybug. There’s fibbing, and then there’s fibbing.”

Stormy walked out of the bathroom, and his breath left him. She was tousled and sexily elegant all at the same time. Why did he have to find himself drawn to her when it was as futile as a moth beating helplessly against a light?

“No, there is not two different kinds of fibbing,” she said, joining into the debate. “There are no varying levels of lying. Tell her the truth, Cody.”

He sighed. “I don’t like you wearing so much makeup. You look like you’re going to be in a horror movie.”

The instant he said it, he damn sure wished he hadn’t.

“I’m going to be an actress when I grow up,” his niece replied dreamily, turning back to the mirror.

“This is all your fault,” he growled at Stormy. “Did you tell her she could get in your goo?”

“Yes.” Stormy sashayed to the bed, dressed in the clothes he’d brought her and looking totally refreshed. He’d been at a loss to choose something out of her closet for her, finally settling on a loose dress that had enough material for a circus big top. Unfortunately, when she put it on, somehow a bow here and a tie there made the damn thing float on her body like gentle hands. He stared at her toes, which were small and delicate and had burgundy toenail polish on them. “You look much better,” he managed. “Nice, actually.”

“Is that the truth?” She shot him a daring look.

“Yes, it was,” he ground out. “Can you take a compliment without making a federal case out of it?”

“Testy today, I see,” she murmured.

“Testy most days,” Mary inserted. She leaned close to a mirror, examining her handiwork.

Stormy zipped her handbag closed. “I hate to leave, but I must, Cody. I’m going to call a taxi, if you’ll tell me exactly where I am.”

“A taxi? I can take you back to the hotel.”

“I think I’ve put you out enough.” She smiled, feeling tired all of a sudden. “I appreciate you taking care of me—saving my life, probably. But the taxi can wait while I pay my hotel bill and grab my things, and then take me on to the airport.”

“Airport?” Cody and Mary both stared at her.

“Yes. As of yesterday, my lodgings are no longer being paid for. So, I’m off, as much as I’ve enjoyed my stay here.”

“What about the movie?” Mary demanded.

Yeah. What about it? Cody thought belligerently, knowing the answer. Wrong-Way had worked the deal he wanted and now Stormy was off, leaving as breezily as she’d come.

“Well, I suppose
I
must be truthful now.”

A little of the stiffness went out of Stormy; Cody thought she looked defeated.

“I got fired,” she said.

“Fired! How?” Cody asked.

“I had a deadline I needed to meet. What day is it, anyway?”

“Monday. Why?” How could she have gotten fired? If he had a movie company, Stormy would be his emissary of choice. She was popular with folks she met, she stuck to her job without being pushy. He almost admired her.