“Please. I understand. But I’d really like to ride along on this,” she said.
He wished she hadn’t been so polite, that the tone of her voice hadn’t shown her complete respect for her position—and his.
The dream had been ridiculous. Brought on by the fact that he’d been back home too long without meeting a woman who really appealed to him. So, just because he was afraid for her, and because he was so attracted to her, he was about to be a jerk.
He checked himself. “Sure. If you wish. Chet, where are they?”
“They’re by that replica Apache village. She was working with a second guide, Terence McCloud, and she’s having him take the tour on back. She’ll be waiting for you. And I’ll warn you—she’s freaking out. She didn’t want to hang out by a corpse.”
“I’m on my way.”
He started back to the car without saying anything to Jane.
She followed him, slipping into the passenger seat as he held the door.
Once in the car, he turned to her. “This isn’t just a ride-along. It really means ride. The trail area where Heidi found the corpse is out back from where my home is. We’ll drive to my place and get the horses. You ride, don’t you?”
He hoped she’d say no.
“Yes, I ride.”
Of course she did.
He called Johnny Bearclaw as he drove, asking him to saddle Kanga and Roo.
“Kanga and Roo?” Jane asked as he rang off.
“I didn’t name them,” he said. “My grandfather got them from an old friend years ago. Kanga is a mare, Roo is her colt. They’re good horses,” he said briefly.
They were good horses. Despite that, over the years, one or the other of the two had lost a rider—they could turn so sharply. They never hurt anyone; riders just slid off.
He wondered if he was hoping she’d take a tumble...and not be able to come with him.
At his property, he walked around the house and straight to the stables, where Johnny had both horses saddled and ready to go.
Sloan introduced Johnny and Jane. They were cordial to each other, and Johnny smiled, honestly happy to meet Jane. She was easy and relaxed, and Sloan was forced to admit that he was the only one who seemed to be awkward with her.
She admired Kanga and Roo and, naturally, Johnny was pleased.
“We need to get moving,” Sloan said. “I’ll take Roo. Johnny, give Jane a hand up, will you?”
The horses were both seventeen hands tall. He swung up on Roo, leaving Jane to ride his beautiful grande dame. She tended to be a slightly smoother ride. Roo sometimes thought he was still a colt.
Jane politely accepted Johnny’s hand but straddled Kanga with agility. She knew how to ride, just as she’d said.
He kneed Roo, and they started off at a long, smooth lope to the rear of his property and onto the trails beyond that led through the foothills. She followed easily at his pace. A half mile into the ride, through desert, rocks and scraggly brush, they connected with the standard trail the stables used for their rides.
They passed one of the entrances to the old silver mines, then the Old Trading Post set up by the stables, where no one actually worked but a few vending machines could be found, and finally reached the Apache village the stables had created as a halfway point on the ride. Although the Apache had never lived in this little array of tepees, they’d set up some placards that accurately described life for Natives of the area; they’d also been hired to fashion the tepees and fireplaces, drying racks and weapon stands that formed the village.
He saw Heidi sitting forlornly on a rock near the placard that gave a history of Geronimo. She held her horse’s reins loosely and looked as if she was on the verge of tears.
“You’re here! Thank God! Oh, Sloan, you’re here!” she said, rising. Heidi was thirty-three, thin and athletic with short-cropped blond hair and dark brown eyes. An excellent rider, she often borrowed Roo when she entered barrel-racing competitions. Although Sloan had no interest in being part of a rodeo, he didn’t mind lending Heidi his horses. She was calm, assured and competent, not to mention friendly and garrulous—a great tour guide. She didn’t own the stables or the tour company, but she did the managing and scheduling.
He dismounted, aware that Jane was doing the same behind him.
“Heidi, you called 9-1-1? Where’s the body?”
“We’re right in the middle of no-road-ville. I’m assuming the med techs are coming by horse-drawn wagon. But I told them—oh, they were being ridiculous. They kept telling me to try emergency procedures, artificial respiration. Sloan, he’s dead. I mean, dead. I am not putting my lips on a corpse!”
“Heidi, they weren’t here. Their job is to save lives,” Sloan told her. “Where—”
“Over here, Sloan,” she interrupted, walking around behind another pile of rocks. She glanced back at Jane. “Uh, hello.”
“This is Agent Everett,” Sloan said.
“Oh, hi, nice to meet you. You’re the artist, right? You make faces out of skulls.”