Diana Palmer - Desperado

“I’m sorry you had such a rough day,” he told her as he pulled up in front of a nice, but nondescript hotel downtown.

“They’re all rough days, lately,” she murmured with a smile. “Life is trial by fire, didn’t you know? It’s an obstacle course. If you survive it, you get to wear wings and float around feeling sorry for the living!”

“Think so?” he teased.

“Of course, when I think about Cord, I want to come back as a stump and trip him twice a day,” she commented drily. She turned toward him. “Thanks for the ride, Red. Thanks a lot. It would have been a long walk.”

“No problem.”

He went around and got her suitcase out for her. She walked into the hotel dragging it behind her. Davis thought he’d never seen such poise, and the thought “grace under fire” came unwillingly to his mind. And Cord Romero could turn his back on a woman like that! The man had to be nuts.

Maggie checked in, went up to her room, locked the door, took off her pantsuit and fell into the bed. She put Cord’s handsome face out of her mind firmly and closed her eyes. She was asleep seconds later.

* * *

BACK AT THE ranch, Cord was sipping coffee and going over ledgers on his computer. He’d spent a lot of time away in recent months, and it was tough catching up on business.

He wondered sometimes why he didn’t just sell the ranch and move into an apartment. He was all on his own, and he never planned to marry again. Life would be less complicated if he lived out of a suitcase, as he’d done most of his adult life except during his brief marriage. But he loved his cattle, and the pair of Andalusian horses he’d purchased on his last visit to his cousin in Andalusia, in the south of Spain not too long a drive from the Rock of Gibraltar.

He leaned back and stared blankly at the black type on the computer screen. He couldn’t get Maggie’s eyes out of his thoughts. When she’d first seen him, before he spoke, those green eyes had been alive with concern, with pleasure, with tentative affection, with joy. So soon, they’d faded to dullness and the joy in them had eclipsed into a sadness that was painful to recall, although she’d quickly hidden it.

It didn’t take good eyesight to recognize her unrequited love for him. At some level, he’d known about it for years. He simply ignored it. She’d grown up, become engaged to his best friend, but married someone else, been widowed—her life had been more of thorns than roses. He’d offered her pain in return for those years of fierce loyalty and affection.

When she’d gone out of his life, he’d expected to have peace, finally. But the loneliness had worn him down until he became careless. In the past, it would have taken far more than a simple electronic bomb to damage him.

In past weeks, for reasons he didn’t really understand, she’d avoided him completely. That had hurt. He’d taken a case in Florida, wounded because Maggie didn’t want to see him. He’d let down his guard and had almost been killed, by an old enemy whose livelihood had been threatened by Cord’s investigation of an employment agency with which he was somehow connected. He’d planted a bomb and Cord had walked into a trap because his mind had been on Maggie instead of the job.

At least she’d finally come to see about him! He’d known that Eb was going to get in touch with her. But he’d stopped just short of telling the man to ask her to come and see about him. He’d expected—no, he’d hoped—that she cared enough to come running the minute he got home. But she hadn’t. It had shaken him.

He’d become accustomed to Maggie on the fringes of his life, always laughing, making him laugh, making him feel safe. She was always there, always waiting for him to...

He cursed under his breath and ran an angry hand through his thick, dark hair. Maggie had finally given up on him. She’d decided that he was never going to turn to her with anything more than sarcasm or indifference. She’d removed herself from the periphery of his life and cut him out of hers. That was what had hurt the most. Having her wait days to acknowledge his injury had only added fuel to the fire.

Well, he’d chased her away for the last time and he wasn’t going to sit around counting his regrets. He couldn’t blame her for not caring, when her place in his life had always been a reluctant one, a remote one, barely tolerated, and totally unappreciated. He couldn’t remember a single time when he’d admitted how much it mattered that she was concerned for him. He’d never told her the comfort it gave him when Patricia died, when he was wounded, when he was in trouble, to have her hold his big hand in her small one so tightly and never let go.

She was a rock in hard times. He hadn’t realized how much he counted on her presence for comfort, for security. Now that comfort was removed, perhaps forever, and her absence was like a hole inside him that nothing could ever fill again. He forced his attention back to the computer screen, grateful that he still had his vision, even if he lost everything else. Not that he was going to advertise his recovery. Not yet.

Impulsively he closed down the spreadsheet and logged on to the Internet. He wanted to know where his nemesis was and what illegal activities might have prompted the attack on Cord in Miami. With a smile of pure arrogance, he walked into the back door of a government agency and right into the protected files on one Raoul Gruber, who had connections in the Cote d’Ivoire of Africa, in Madrid, and in Amsterdam....

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER A MOSTLY sleepless night, Cord sat down to breakfast. He’d gone over the latest herd records with June’s father the day before, and he was satisfied with the breeding program and the sales figures. He’d called down to the bunkhouse for Red Davis last night to discuss a problem with some irrigation equipment, since Red had charge of ranch equipment and supplies, but the cowboy who answered the phone said Davis was off on a date, as usual. Cord wondered how a man with such a cocky attitude and such a big mouth could draw so many women. His own social life was stagnant by comparison. But that suited him, he told himself. He had no time for women.

The back door opened just as he finished his last bite of egg and biscuit, and Davis walked in yawning. His hat was pushed far back over his red hair and he was neat as a pin, in blue jeans and a short-sleeved checked shirt. He was twenty-seven, years younger than Cord, but he seemed even younger at times. Cord mused that he’d lived through more than Davis probably ever would. It wasn’t the age, didn’t they say, but the mileage that made people old. If he were a used car, he thought, he’d be in a junkyard.

“I heard you were looking for me last night, boss,” Davis said at once, pulling out a chair to straddle. “Sorry, I had a date.”

“You always have a date,” Cord muttered, sipping coffee.

Davis grinned wickedly. “Have to make hay while the sun shines. One day, I’ll be ancient and decrepit like you.”

Cord’s mouth drew down sardonically. “And I’d just decided to give you a raise!”

“I’d rather have girls hanging out of my truck,” Davis said, but he grinned again.

“Never mind. We’ve got problems with that irrigation system again,” he added. “I want you to get that serviceman out there and tell him I want it fixed this time, repaired with new parts, not held together with duct tape and baling wire.”

“I told him that last time.”

“Then call the customer service people and tell them to send somebody else. The equipment’s still under warranty,” he added. “If they can’t fix it, they shouldn’t sell it. I want it up and running by tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay, boss, I’ll give it my best. But you probably should have a lawyer talk to them about their customer service department. I think they employ robots.”