newspaper.
“I'm going to have to take off some of those clothes, Ma'am.”
She didn't seem to hear. TJ. decided this was as good a time as any to correct her overdressed condition. Hell, what was he supposed to take off first?
He unbuttoned her shirt lower, pushed up the sleeves and waited. Still no response.
Didn't she realize this was afternoon in the
deserft
No one marched around in the afternoon sun without water. Muttering, TJ. went to work on her boots and belt.Why did
he
have to be the one dealing with this crazy female? He hadn't tackled a woman's buttons in six months.
TJ. frowned. Or had it been longer?
Damn, that was unnatural.
He wiped her face again. She had a redhead's delicate complexion, but she hadn't worn sunscreen or a hat. He meant to give her hell for that, too.
“Ms. O'Mara?”
She was out cold.
TJ. decided that her clothes were going to have to wait.
Two people stood in the shaded bow window across the street, watching T.J. stride out of the sheriffs office. One was the owner of the General Mercantile and cafe.
“That's odd,” Mae muttered.
“What's odd?” Doc Felton stood nursing one of Mae's famous butterscotch milk shakes.
“The sheriff. Man's fit to be tied. I haven't seen him that angry since that California promoter wanted to rent the town for an undertaker's convention.”
Doc Felton elbowed in beside her and had a view of T.J.'s stiff gait as he strode toward his dusty Blazer. He was muttering as he swung open the door, then closed it again. He jammed his hat down hard, took a dozen angry steps, and kicked at the rear tire, then turned and stalked back up the steps to the sheriffs office.
The doctor rubbed his jaw. “Definitely looks angry. Must have something to do with that woman who passed out in the street today. Heatstroke, most likely.”
“Who, TJ. or the woman?”
Doc Felton chuckled. “Maybe both of them.”
“You don't say.” Mae spread her hands on the spotless but worn Formica table beside the window. “She the one with all that red hair? Driving that fancy blue car?”
“That's the one.”
Mae chewed on her lip. “You don't say.”
The two stood at the window in companionable silence.
“Odd about T.J. being all stirred up like that,” the doctor said slowly. “He doesn't stir up easily. Especially over a woman.”
The two looked at each other.
“Then again, maybe not,” Mae mused. “The sheriff doesn't get a lot of social opportunities here in Almost. Big, strong man like that must miss spending a few pleasant hours with a female.”
More silence.
“Of course, if something went wrong with that fancy car, she wouldn't be leaving for a while,” the doctor murmured. “They'd have to send for parts from California. Maybe even from the East Coast. Just hypothetically.”
“Wouldn't want anything
terrible
to go wrong,” Mae said. “Maybe a distributor cap or a fuel line.” She stared out into the afternoon sun. “Might take a week to get a replacement part.”
The doctor stared at the sheriffs office. “A week should be just about right. For a car problem, that is.”
“And for two people to get to know each other.” Mae watched little eddies of dirt spin around the spiny branches of an ocotillo cactus. “Our sheriff could use some company in that great big house of his.”
“Does your brother still work at the Auto Palace?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seems to me,” the doctor mused, “that he might know how to repair a fuel line. Or maybe even how to detach one. Just hypothetically, of course,”
“Fuel lines happen to be his specialty.” Mae smiled as she picked up die phone. “Just hypothetically, of course.”
She was there again, amid narrow canyon walls filled with shadow, every rock familiar.
She stood on green ferns, the sun burning her shoulders. The wind carried the scent of silver sage and star flower as she slipped to the ground and drank from the still pool between the rocks, offering murmured thanks to
Jon Land, Robert Fitzpatrick