Читать книгу Rodeo Standoff - Susan Sleeman - Страница 15
ОглавлениеTessa may have met Braden today for the first time, but after just five minutes of conversation, it was clear that he thought he knew what was best for her, and he was the last guy she wanted hanging around. His actions reminded her of his pushy behavior and cocky attitude back in the day. He’d won championship after championship, and it was obvious to anyone looking that his confidence knew no bounds. He became a big rodeo celebrity, and women in every town had tried to grab his attention. She’d seen them fawn over him, and he’d done nothing to reject the attention.
Just like her former boyfriend Jason. After she’d quit traveling the rodeo circuit to focus on school, he continued touring without her and cheated on her. She’d dumped him on the spot as soon as she found out, but the pain of his betrayal still lingered. Now here she was letting Braden’s rugged masculinity get to her. Letting his smile affect her. Well, no longer. If she ever dated again—a big if—she would never ever fall for a guy like Braden Hayes.
She glanced at him as he stood watching the bull. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his faded jeans. He’d pulled his hat low again, looking like a real-life cowboy. He tilted his head, his gaze filled with longing. For the sport he left behind?
Odd. He’d voluntarily retired at the height of his success, so why the melancholy?
Maybe he was thinking about his last ride, a particularly bad one. He’d gotten his glove hung up in the bull rope, and the bull had dragged him for quite some time before Braden broke free. She was amazed he’d managed to free himself. After the bull had thrown him, he’d had to get on his feet and pull his body up on the bull to relieve the pressure on the rope so he could slide his hand out. Who had the presence of mind to do that when an almost one-ton bull thrashed you around like a dog with a chew toy?
She had to admit it would be a man who was good under pressure, like he’d shown himself to be just now with this raging bull. The massive beast hadn’t fazed him a bit. She found that confidence even more appealing than his looks.
He sighed, then caught her watching him and gave a brief shake of his head.
“You miss it,” she said.
He nodded.
“I don’t at all pretend to understand the urge to ride a bull, but I’ll understand the longing for the events come Monday.”
He turned eyes the color of a stormy sky on her in a pensive gaze. “How’s that?”
“This is my last competition. My horse, Copper, has health issues, and it’s best for him to retire.”
“You could get another horse.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Copper loves to race, and I’d feel like I was cheating on him with another horse. And even if I didn’t feel that way, when you barrel race, you’re putting your complete trust in something that doesn’t communicate with words. Takes a lot of training to succeed. I have far too much going on in my life to find time to train a new horse.”
“At least I never had an emotional connection to a horse to worry about.” He smiled.
“No, you just had to worry about keeping your body in one piece.” She ran her gaze over him. He was a good four inches taller than the typical five-foot-ten professional bull rider, and he was still fit. Really fit. In spite of herself, she was attracted to him. Drawn to him. To that smile. Those compelling eyes.
He cleared his throat, and she suddenly realized she was staring at his chest. She jerked her head up to find his smile had turned flirty.
“Do you recognize the bull?” she asked, quickly returning her focus back to where it needed to be.
He let his eyes linger for a moment longer, awareness of her remaining, then shook his head. “I’ve been out of the business too long. Nowadays, I only know the top bucking bulls I see at the big PBR events.”
“Hopefully, Harley can give us the owner’s information.”
“If not, the bull’s ear is tagged, and we can check the RSR.”
“RSR?” she asked.
“Rodeo Stock Registry of North America, a genetic DNA database that holds parentage records and tracks offspring of bucking cattle.”
She gestured at the arena’s main entrance. “Here comes Harley now. Let’s hope he can ID the bull, and we won’t have to go that route.”
A dark-headed Goliath of a man dressed in jeans, boots and a big Stetson, Harley stormed across the arena carrying a white binder. He lifted his hat and swiped his arm over his forehead. “You sure you’re okay, Tessa?”
“Fine, thanks to Braden.”
“Harley Grainger.” He planted his hat on his head and held out his free hand for Braden. “Good to meet you in person. I’m sorry about the incident.”
Braden took what looked to be a firm grip and shook Harley’s hand. “Think nothing of it. I was glad to help Tessa out.”
Harley swung his head to look at Tessa. “Your dad’s gonna have a fit when he hears about this. I’ve been friends with him so long I feel like you’re one of my own girls, and I let you both down.”
“I saw on the way in that someone cut the lock,” Braden said. “People can hardly hold you accountable for someone cutting the lock.”
“And you’re only responsible for livestock once they’re checked in,” Tessa added and squeezed Harley’s arm. “You had no reason to even be here before the livestock were supposed to be delivered. I get that and Dad will, too.”
“I thank you for understanding, Tessa, but you know your dad has different standards as the sheriff.” He frowned.
“Are you worried about something else?” she asked.
“Attendance. Pure and simple. This crazy heat wave is already threatening to keep folks home this year, but once this story gets around town, it could give them another reason to stay away.”
Tessa hadn’t thought of that. “You can spin it with the press as a handsome cowboy rescuing a damsel in distress. Who knows, it might draw even more spectators in.”
“You think I’m handsome, huh?” Braden whispered.
She started to roll her eyes, but his flirtatious behavior, so like Jason’s, didn’t even deserve that much of a response.
“I’m sure glad you agreed to come down for the rodeo,” Harley said, obviously missing the undercurrent running between Braden and her. “Wish you’d told me you were arriving this early. I’da been here to greet you. Maybe then things woulda been different.”
“Maybe,” Braden said.
“Why were you here so early, anyway?” Tessa asked.
Braden turned toward her. His lazy hooded eyes ran over her and made her feel like she was the only woman on earth.
“Like you,” he said, “I wanted a little time alone to relive the glory days.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you were here, for Tessa’s sake and for our program. I’m especially grateful that you’d come an extra day before the rodeo begins, when we let our fans take a close-up look at the livestock. You usually do the bigger PBR events, so I figured you’d turn me down flat.”
“I like to help out the smaller venues when my schedule allows.”
Really? Sounded like he actually cared about the success of small-town rodeos. About the people and volunteers. Maybe he had layers she hadn’t seen before. Still, one layer didn’t make him a man she could trust.
“I hate to do this to you,” Braden continued. “Especially with the issue of attendance, but I’m planning to help find the jerk who put the bull in the arena with Tessa. Means I might have to sit out a few of the PR events I agreed to handle.”
Help find the suspect? That was news to Tessa. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Harley said, “That’s right, you’re a detective now.” Harley pursed his lips for a moment. “Wish you hadn’t hung up your spurs. You were something to watch.”
Braden suddenly gestured at the bull as if ignoring Harley’s compliment, at odds with the guy who’d seemed so cocky when he’d won so many championships.
“I’m hoping I can use my experience in the ring and as a detective to close this case,” he said. “First step is to figure out who put the bull in the arena. We have a little over two days before the rodeo opens to figure that out and we shouldn’t waste any time. Harley, if I give you the bull’s ID number, can you give us his registration information?”
“Sure thing,” Harley replied.
Braden clambered up the rails to reach for the bull’s electronic identification tag fixed in his ear and called out the number. He could still move fluidly. Surprising, what with all the injuries bull riders sustained. Of course, he must have recovered from his injuries, or he wouldn’t have passed a police physical. But she’d seen him take some bad falls, and a bull’s jarring motion takes a toll on hips, shoulders and knees, so he had to have residual effects.
“Here it is.” Harley tapped his notebook. “He’s King Slammer. Belongs to Ernie Winston Bucking Bulls out of Waco. He’s on the check-in schedule for nine o’clock.”
“He’s several hours early,” Braden said. “Do you make the check-in schedules?”
“Other volunteers handle that.” Harley, like everyone else in the association, was also a volunteer. Not unusual for small-town rodeos. “This year Douglas Peters is in charge of it.”
“Douglas?” Tessa stiffened.
“Is he a problem?” Braden asked.
“I’m...not sure. His sister is Felicia Peters, my biggest competitor. Neither of them has made any secret about not liking me. In fact, Douglas often accuses me of cheating.”
Braden’s eyebrow went up, but he didn’t speak.
“Everyone knows the Peters family doesn’t much like Tessa,” Harley said. “But I can’t imagine Douglas being behind this.”
Tessa wasn’t sure she’d be that generous. Douglas had been pretty nasty in his accusations against her.
“Let me give Ernie a call to see what’s going on with King Slammer.” Harley stepped away and lifted his phone to his ear.
Braden hopped down, standing tall and ruggedly handsome with his hands on his waist, his feet planted wide. Tessa’s gaze wanted to linger, but she forced her attention to the crime scene. She walked along the outside of the chute looking for any clue that might lead her to the person who wanted to end her life, but she couldn’t focus. She’d done her best to put on a good front for Braden and Harley, making it seem like the bull was no big deal. But she was smart enough to realize that someone wanted to cause her great harm, and she suspected when that someone learned she’d survived, they’d try again.
Her phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket. Her father. Great. Could she get away with ignoring the call? As the Lake County sheriff, he usually received news long before anyone else, but he couldn’t have heard about the bull already, could he? She could just see him going ballistic once he did. Then, like always, he’d warn her to be careful. He told her brothers, Matt and Gavin, to get after things, but he tried to coddle her and her sister, Kendall. She loved him for his caring but was exasperated at the same time.
And she couldn’t ignore his call. He could need her on an important investigation. Forcing herself to sound cheerful, she answered.
“Got a report of a stolen bull,” he said before she could tell him about King Slammer. “It was taken from the rest area just outside town. We’re talking a fifty-thousand-dollar animal. I need you out there ASAP to process the scene.”
“A stolen bull at the rest area,” she said, catching Braden’s attention. “Do you have a name for the bull?”
“King Slammer.”
She shot a look at the chute, her mind processing the idea that someone stole this bull to use it as a weapon against her. “No need to search for him. I’m at the arena, and you can tell the owner that King Slammer is here.”
“What in the world?”
“Someone dropped him off. Not sure who yet. Harley’s here now, and we’re figuring it out.”
“Well, I’ll be.” The words drew out in his deep Texan drawl. “Why steal a bull just to leave it at the arena when it was scheduled to be delivered to the pens there anyway? Truck and trailer there, too?”
“I haven’t been outside since I laid eyes on the bull, but I’ll check it out before I process the scene.”
“I don’t much cotton to such a high-dollar theft in my county, so take your time and don’t miss a thing. Matt’s at the rest area and will handle things until you get there.”
She was glad her brother, a county detective, caught the case instead of the other detective on staff, as Matt had a better case-closure rate.
“Go ahead and look for that truck and trailer before heading out here, too,” her father added.
She was about to hang up when Braden came toe-to-toe with her and grabbed her phone. “Sheriff McKade.”
She tried to retrieve her phone, but Braden spun, keeping it out of her grasp. “Looks like King Slammer was put here to injure your daughter.”
“Who is this?” she heard her father demand.
Braden identified himself and added that he was a police detective in Austin. “I want to accompany her to the rest area, but law enforcement professionals often refuse to believe they need help. I thought maybe you could convince her to let me escort her.” He listened carefully, then handed the phone to her. “He wants to talk to you.”
She put the cell to her ear. “Dad.”
“Listen, Tessa. You may be a grown woman, but don’t think that means you can purposely avoid telling me about something like this. You hear me, girl?”
“Yes, Dad.” She wanted to stand up for herself, but she wouldn’t engage in a personal argument with Braden standing close by. She could and did glare at him for snatching her phone, though. He simply peered at her with a blank expression as if he hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Braden Hayes is going to accompany you to the rest area,” her father continued. “And I’ll be meeting you there, too.”
“Dad, I don’t need anyone to watch over—”
“Hold it right there, Peanut. You need the family’s help and, right now, Braden’s, too. And I want to meet the man and shake his hand. If he hadn’t come along...” His voice broke.
His obvious concern for her safety put her closer to crying than anything that had happened since seeing the bull pawing at the ground right in front of her.
“I’ll see you as soon as I’m done here,” she managed to mutter through a throat that was closing and ended the call.
She stowed her phone and glared at Braden. “You had no right to do that.”
“Easy, darlin’,” he said, his words languid and low. “Or you’re likely to rush off into danger, just the opposite of what your father and I want.”
She couldn’t handle that he’d aligned himself with her dad on this issue, but arguing with such a mule-headed man wouldn’t do any good. She headed for Harley, breathing deep to ward off tears of frustration that would make her look like a frightened girl instead of a strong deputy.
Harley stared at his phone in his hand as if willing it to ring. “Call went to Ernie’s voice mail. I’m hoping he’ll get right back to me.”
She told him about King Slammer’s theft. “If Ernie’s out at the rest area when I get there, I’ll ask him to call you.”
Harley nodded as Braden joined them.
Still upset over the way he’d butted in where he had no business going, she ignored him. “I’ll take a look for the missing truck and trailer, then grab my supplies and process the crime scene before heading out.”
“Crime scene?” Harley’s voice squeaked high. “Now wait a minute, Tessa. There’s been no crime committed here.”
“Someone cut the lock at the gate and a stolen bull was left to stampede an innocent woman,” Braden said, his tone deadly serious. “Where I’m from, we call that a crime.”
* * *
Tessa stormed ahead of Braden. They’d been walking the blocks surrounding the arena, looking for the truck and trailer for some time now, and she didn’t hide her anger very well. He’d have to be an idiot not to see she was mad at him for taking her phone to talk to her father. He shouldn’t have done it, but come on. She needed someone to have her back right now, so he’d taken on that responsibility. If that meant invading her personal space and overstepping his bounds, so be it. Keeping her safe came first for him.
He planned to apologize. Just not at the moment. Now he needed to keep his eyes and ears open for any additional threats.
“Doesn’t look like we’re going to find the truck, so time to move on.” She spun and marched back toward the arena.
They passed the barn that would soon house contestants’ horses, then crossed the street to the large parking lot surrounding the building on three sides. On the backside, outdoor pens connected to gates leading to the chutes where bulls and broncs would enter the arena. A sign saying Danger Bulls, Stay Back hung from the fence. Tessa breezed right past it without a hitch in her step, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.
She stopped at a full-size pickup and reached into the jump seat to pull out a tote bag and a case that resembled a large fishing tackle box before returning to the chute still holding King Slammer.
Braden watched her for a moment as she squatted by the cut padlock dangling from a thick chain. He enjoyed the way she attacked her job with the same intensity he felt for his work. Her gaze didn’t seem to hold as many questions as it had in the past, and in the years, she seemed to have grown stronger. Even more attractive than her understated beauty.
He was drawn closer to her and would love to know more about her. For now, he’d stick with quizzing her about her job. “Do you always carry forensic items in your truck?”
“Basic stuff, yeah.” She flipped open the hard-sided case. “When I’m on call, I often need to go straight to a scene and don’t always have time to pick up the county vehicle.”
Braden nodded. He stayed on alert, his senses attentive to any unexpected noise or flash of light, but he let his eyes follow a soaring red-tailed hawk swooping over the open-air arena built in the 1930s. The bird’s terracotta-orange tail feathers glowed in the bright sun, beauty only God could create.
As a kid, Braden had often gone outside to take solace during his parents’ fights, and it was part of why he loved outdoor venues. With many of the PBR events now held in large indoor arenas, small venues run by volunteers were a breath of fresh air. Literally. Still, if this had been a big venue, they would have had paid security staff, thus preventing the threat to Tessa’s life.
“Which do you like best?” he asked her, wanting to hear one thing about her personal life. “Riding in an outdoor or indoor arena?”
“I grew up on outdoor ones, so that’s still my preference.” She snapped on latex gloves before opening the case.
“Mine, too. I love the connection to God.”
Their gazes connected, a hint of respect in hers, and he felt like the simple exchange cemented something between them far bigger than their preference in arena styles. She tilted her head to look at him, a look of interest darkening her chocolate-brown eyes. As quick as the look came, it evaporated. She clearly didn’t want to acknowledge her attraction. He had to admit her rejection stung. Was it because he rarely received rejections or was it because she was special?
He almost sighed, then stopped. He was letting his interest in her take over and that was a recipe for disaster. He took in a deep breath and let it out, hoping to clear his brain and move on.
Investigation. Think only investigation.
She started assembling a metal frame with a board at the base. Over the top, she placed a plastic bag.
“What’s that?” He bent down to take a better look.
She scooted back as if he carried the plague. Would she be reacting this way to any man or was it him? He got the feeling that it was him, but he didn’t know why.
“This is a portable fuming chamber,” she said, her tone filled with enthusiasm for her work. “I’ll place the lock inside the chamber with cyanoacrylate—otherwise known as superglue—and the fumes will adhere to the prints and change their composition to make them visible. I can then enhance them with powder and even photograph them.”
“I don’t know much about forensics, but wouldn’t you find the prints by dusting the lock right from the start?”
She eyed him for a moment, her expression tightening before she jerked her gaze away to stare off into the distance. “This way is more thorough. Someone put a bull up close and personal with me. I could have died. Not something I’ll ever forget, and I don’t want to miss a single print.”
Taking an extra step to find the person who tried to kill her was a good sign. Coupled with her earlier cautious awareness of her surroundings, he was glad to see that she wasn’t as willfully blind to the danger as she’d first led him to believe.
“Plus, fuming hardens to secure the fingerprint in place and stabilizes it for transport with minimal risk of destroying the print.” She poured water into a small bowl and placed it on the chamber base. She carefully removed the lock and balanced it upright next to the bowl, then ripped open a foil-lined envelope. “This is the fingerprint developer—the cyanoacrylate.”
“That word rolls off your tongue like you’ve been doing this for some time.”
“I have a Master’s in Forensic Science and have been County’s lead crime scene investigator for two years, so I’ve used the word quite a bit.” She hung the envelope from the top hook.
“But you’re still a deputy, right? I mean, you said you were a deputy when you told me to back off.”
“I hope you didn’t take any offense to that. It was just me being ornery—a knee-jerk response over the way my brothers and father try to coddle me. I don’t need someone else championing the same cause.” She met his gaze and held firm. “I really can take care of myself, and after you shake hands with Dad, you’re free to go.”
We’ll see about that. “You were explaining how you’re both a deputy and a crime scene investigator.”
“Right.” She started rolling the bag down the frame. “County requires all investigators to be sworn officers and work patrol for a minimum of three years. I always knew I wanted a forensics career, so I worked as a patrol deputy part-time while getting my degree. When I graduated, I’d fulfilled the time requirement and could move into the first investigator opening.”
“Sounds like you enjoy your job.”
“Enjoy...yeah, but the word doesn’t do justice to the way I feel about forensics.” She tucked the bag under the frame. “It’s my passion.”
“So is barrel racing, right?”
She frowned.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Since I’m retiring this year, it’s kind of a sore subject with me.”
“Right.” The urge to take her hand and offer comfort, something a deputy wouldn’t appreciate at all, almost took over his common sense. Almost, but he stifled it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about Tessa the woman, not the deputy. Would she reject his comfort? With the way she’d scooted away from him a few minutes ago, he had to think she would.
She got to her feet. “The fuming can take a few minutes. While it works, I’ll search for additional evidence.”
“What about the gate itself? Don’t you want to check it for prints, too?”
“I will, but this is a public gate. Means there’ll be tons of latent prints, and it’ll take some time for our examiner to get through all of them. Of course, I’ll have him start with any prints located on the lock. That will give me a place to start the investigation.”
“Wait, what?” He gaped at her. “You’re not going to try to handle the investigation yourself.”
She eyed him over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you if you were me?”
“Yeah, but I’m a detective and you’re not.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to follow leads.”
“You’re too close to the situation.”
“Like I’m going to let that stop me.” She moved slowly down the side of the chute, stirring up King Slammer, who head-butted the rails.
Braden had to give Tessa credit, she didn’t even flinch. Usually, he admired a feisty personality, but now? She didn’t have the training to handle an attempted murder investigation and could get hurt along the way. In spite of that, he didn’t need to protest, as he doubted her father would let her run the investigation, anyway.
She squatted and picked something up that looked like the tip of a latex glove. She stared at it, her face screwed up in earnest concentration. Her concentration was so complete that he was convinced she was oblivious to her surroundings.
Totally oblivious. If he wasn’t standing watch, someone could easily attack her.
He had years of experience in catching killers and would-be killers and she needed his help. She didn’t realize it yet, but he’d make sure she figured it out. No matter what it took. He had to get through to her, before another attempt on her life caught her unaware and succeeded.
