"You really know how to turn on the charm when you have to, Gully."
It seemed the matter was settled, and she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. They specified a time and place for her to meet the helicopter, and Sheriff Montez promised to have her there. Gully and Kip said their good-byes and hustled off toward the waiting chopper with the station's call letters painted on the sides.
Galloway extended his hand. "Good luck to you, Ms.
McCoy."
"And to you." She shook hands with him, but when he would have withdrawn, she detained him. "You said you were glad it was me who was in there," she said, nodding in the direction of the store. "I'm glad it was you out here, Mr. Galloway." And she meant it. They'd been very lucky to have him as the agent in charge of such a delicate situation.
Another might not have handled it with the sensitivity he had shown.
The implied compliment seemed to embarrass him.
"Thank you," he said briskly, then turned and reentered the van.
Sheriff Montez retrieved her bags from her car and placed them in the back seat of his squad car. She protested his chauffeuring her. "I can drive myself, Sheriff."
"No need. You're so tuckered out, I'd be afraid you'd fall asleep at the wheel. If you're worried about your car, I'll send a deputy over for it. We'll keep it parked at our office where we can keep an eye on it."
Surprisingly, she found it a welcome change to relinquish control and to not have to make any mind-taxing decisions. "Thank you."
It was a short trip to the motel. Six rooms were lined up along a covered breezeway that provided a hair's-breadth of shade. All the doors were painted UT orange.
"No need to check in. You're the only guest." Montez slid from behind the steering wheel and came around to assist her out.
He had the room key and used it to open the door. The air conditioner had already been turned on. The window unit hummed loudly and one of its internal parts clanked intermittently, but these were friendly sounds. A vase of sunflowers and a basket filled with fresh fruit and baked goods wrapped in pink plastic had been placed on the room's one small table.
"The Catholic ladies weren't about to be outdone by the Baptists," he told her.
"You've all been very kind."
"Not at all, Ms. McCoy. Weren't for you, it could've gone a lot worse. None of us wanted Rojo Flats to be put on the map by something like a massacre." He touched the brim of his hat as he backed out, pulling the door closed behind him. "You want anything, call the desk.
Otherwise nobody'll bother you. Rest well. I'll be back for you later."
Ordinarily the first thing Tiel did upon entering a room was switch on the television set. She was a news junkie.
Whether or not she was actually watching the screen, she was always tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station. She fell asleep to it, and woke up to it.
Now, she moved past the TV set without even noticing it and carried her toiletry bag with her into the minuscule bathroom. The shower was barely large enough to turn around in, but the water was hot and there was plenty of it. Standing beneath the steaming spray, she let it pound against her skull before shampooing. She lathered lavishly with her imported soap sold exclusively at Neiman's. She shaved her legs, avoiding the lacerations on her knees.
She used her hair dryer only long enough to blow out most of the water, then bent over the sink to brush her teeth.
All of which felt wonderful.
So why did she feel so lousy?
She had just filed the most important story of her career. Nine Live was as good as hers now. Gully had said so.
She should be dancing on the ceiling. Instead her limbs felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds apiece.
Where was the fizzy high she derived from a good news story? Her spirit was as flat as three-day-old champagne.
Sleep deprivation. That was it. Once she had napped for several hours, she would be right as rain. Her old self.
Recharged and ready.
Back in the bedroom, she took a tank top and briefs from her suitcase and put them on, set her travel alarm clock, then turned down the bed. The sheets looked soft and inviting. It occurred to her that her knees and palms might bleed on them, but she was beyond caring.
When she heard the knock, she took it for another ping in the air conditioner's mechanism. But when it was followed by a second, she moved to the door and pulled it open.
CHAPTER 16
He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, removed his sunglasses and hat, and set them on the table beside the untouched basket of goodies the ladies from the Catholic church had prepared for her.
He smelled of sunshine and soap; he was freshly shaved.
He had on clean but well-worn Levi's and a plain white shirt, a western tooled-leather belt, and cowboy boots.
If a team of mustangs had been pulling Tiel in the opposite direction, they couldn't have stopped her from throwing herself against him. Or maybe he reached for her. Afterward, she didn't recall who moved first. And anyway, who initiated it was unimportant.
All that mattered was that he drew her into an all-encompassing embrace. Her body was flush with his, and they held each other tightly. Her brimming tears flowed freely and were absorbed by the cloth of his shirt. He covered the back of her head with his wide hand and pressed her face into his chest to cushion the sobs that issued from her in short, noisy bursts.
"Did he die? Are you here to tell me that Ronnie is dead?"
"No, that's not why I'm here. I don't know any news about Ronnie."
"I guess that's good."
"I guess."
"I couldn't believe it, Doc. That sound. That horrible, deafening sound. Then to see him lying there so still, amidst all that glass and blood. More blood."
"Shh."
Comforting words were whispered across her hairline, along her temple. Then the words ceased, and only his breath, his lips, drifted over her brow, touching her damp eyelids. Tiel raised her head and looked at him through tearful eyes. Reaching up to touch his face, she made a small sound of want, which he echoed.
A heartbeat later, his lips were on hers. Insistent and hungry, they rubbed hers apart. Their tongues flirted, stroked, before his dominated. It claimed and explored her mouth. Tiel's hands met at the back of his neck. She threaded her fingers up through his hair and submitted to his kiss, which was symbolically, blatantly sexual.
As though boosted by a powerful stimulant, her senses quickened. Each sensory receptor was sharpened to a fine point. She had never felt more alive, yet she was also a little afraid. Like a child at her first carnival, she was dazzled and dazed by the sensual onslaught, enthralled by it, overwhelmed by it, apprehensive of it, and yet eager to experience it.
His belt buckle gouged her tummy, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. The cold metal turned warm against the strip of bare skin between the hem of her tank top and her bikini line. Strong and confident, his hands settled on her lower back and pulled her closer.
He kissed his way down her throat. She angled her head to one side, and he feathered her earlobe with his breath, his tongue. Following the course of her head, she turned her body slowly, enabling him to kiss the side of her neck, her shoulder. Lifting her hair, he kissed her nape. The touch of his mouth there sent shivers of delight up her spine.
With her back to him now, she leaned against his wide chest while his hands smoothed over her front. He pressed her breasts beneath his palms, cupped them, reshaped them, before his hands continued down to her rib cage-which he was almost able to encase. At her hipbones, his hands rested.
Tingling with arousal, her movements against him were feline, shameless, inviting. He responded by slipping his hand into the front of her briefs, down, down deep into the vee of her thighs.