Kathleen Pickering - Desert Heat

The answer had struck like lightning. Now she headed for her parents’ house. The only way she’d be able to get Butler off the case was to ask for her father’s help. Don Francisco Flores was mayor of Adobe Creek. Next to the Judumi reservation, Don Francisco was the largest landholder in the county. He also owned the Rio Plata silver mine in Mexico on which he’d built his fortune. Don Francisco knew every public official within a one-hundred-mile radius and had funded the Adobe Creek unit against drug and human trafficking years ago. If anyone could send Butler packing, Don Francisco could—and would if Meg asked him to.

Meg reduced her speed to lessen the dust as she passed the cabins for the ranch hands. Two horses were still in the split-rail corral next to the courtyard and cantered to the fence at the sight of her truck. Her parents must have been riding before dinner. Nice. They really knew how to enjoy their life now that they’d both retired from the mining industry. Well, her father would never truly retire. But Meg’s brother was doing a fine job of running the business in Mexico, which freed Don Francisco to concentrate on his twin passions—politics and Adobe Creek.

Pulling her truck up to the courtyard leading to the front door of the low-slung, rambling adobe ranch, Meg caught sight of a silver Harley-Davidson parked in the shade of a mesquite tree. Her breath caught in her throat. The bike had a New York tag.

She froze. “No way in hell.”

She pushed open the arched heavy wooden door, ready for battle. The familiar, sage-scented coolness of the living room welcomed her, but no one was around.

No one person in particular.

She headed for the kitchen at the back of the house. “Mom? Dad?”

“Señorita Flores, is that you?”

The housekeeper’s teenage daughter came bursting through the kitchen door. Her eyes were bright with excitement.

“Hola, Ana. Where are my parents?”

“Oh, Señorita. We have a guest. Such an interesting man.”

Of course. A rugged, sexy stranger rides in on a Harley looking as if every inch of him offers excitement, and any teenage girl would go gaga.

“Easy now, Ana. Where are they?”

“The veranda. Mama is preparing ropa vieja.”

No way was that creep eating dinner in her house. Meg took the few steps to the back doors and looked out. Sure enough, Tico Butler sat beneath the shade of the roofed pergola at the far end of the stone-walled veranda, holding a glass of beer, leaning back in the upholstered chair, looking very much at home in her parents’ company, attentively listening to something her mother was saying.

Damn his bones. Meg charged out the door. All three looked up at the sound of her footsteps. Barbara Flores smiled at her daughter’s approach. Once she sensed Meg’s intention, her brow creased with distress. Though her mother could read her every mood, anyone watching would know Meg was angry. Her father and Tico seemed to share the same expectant, if not guarded, look.

She smelled foul play at her expense. There was more going on here than she suspected. She pointed to Butler. “Dad, what is he doing here?”

Still wearing her riding clothes, Barbara Flores sat straighter, if possible. With her silver-streaked black hair pulled back in an elegant chignon, her blue eyes a striking contrast to her hair, her mother was a woman of sophistication who always stood her ground, especially in the world of academia, where she’d made a name for herself. She would not tolerate Meg’s impoliteness, unless she understood her daughter’s reasoning.

“Meg?”

Meg didn’t want to cause a scene, but really? Did she have to come home looking for help, only to find the root of her problem charming her parents before she even had the chance to talk with them?

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t think of anything else to say.” She gestured to Butler. “We met today and do not get along. I can’t understand why he is here.”

Don Francisco stood. At sixty-four, of medium height and build, he was every bit the dark, handsome Mexican aristocrat in his jeans, boots and crisp white cowboy shirt. He’d worked his way up from the streets to earn his fortune and carried his success with pride. He took Meg’s hands, kissed her cheek. “It distresses me to see you upset.”

Her father’s patronizing tone was way too familiar. “You haven’t answered me.”

He ignored her prod. “Detective Butler told us about the meeting this morning. We understand your concern.”

“But that doesn’t explain why he’s here.”

“Because I invited him to dinner.”

Meg looked from her father to her mother, who didn’t look happy with Meg. At all. “You what?”

Tico stood, placed his beer on the low table. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’ll be happy to take a rain check on dinner.”

Don Francisco held up a hand. “Unnecessary, Tico. Meg will regain her manners, and we shall continue our conversation.”

“Dad!”

Don Francisco signaled to Ana, who hovered in the doorway. “The beer is ice-cold. I think you can use one.”

Ana acknowledged Don Francisco’s request for Meg’s beer and shot Tico a smile before leaving.

Barbara tapped the orange cushion on the wicker chair next to hers. “Sit down, Meg. We were having an interesting conversation about horses.”

Tico’s easy grin did nothing to sway her. Meg understood exactly why Butler had arrived on horseback, and it was for no one else’s benefit but his. “Maybe another time, Mom. I won’t stay. I’ll catch you in the morning.” She turned to go.

“Meg, stay. You most certainly do not want to miss our conversation,” Don Francisco said.

Her father’s displeasure wasn’t lost on her. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he made his point. “Why not?”

“Because it concerns you.”

Tico was still standing, watching her. He stood maybe three or four inches taller than her, but his strong physique made him seem bigger. He’d lost the goofy vest, and she couldn’t help but notice how his denim shirt fit the planes of his tanned chest.

The curiosity in his eyes was unsettling. He lifted a hand as if in a gesture of peace. “I’m not the enemy, Meg. I swear.”

Oh, hell, no. He wasn’t going to win her over with false sincerity in front of her parents. “Yet you questioned my integrity in the presence of my boss and my team?”

Barbara frowned. “Meg, is this necessary?”

Her mother’s soft voice made her uncomfortably aware of the venom in her own words. She released a breath. “Look, everyone. I apologize. I’m a bit keyed up. Women are missing, and we’re getting nowhere because everyone is trying to prove who is tougher. Meanwhile, those women could be suffering. I don’t like seeing important business neglected while everyone jockeys for control. I just want to get back to work.”

Her father gestured to the seat his wife had offered Meg. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

Reluctantly, she took the seat as Ana returned with a frosty mug of beer on a tray. Meg took a long draft of the cool amber liquid and let her gaze fall past the veranda to the acres of open land framed by the mountains. The lowering sun cast a golden glow on the arid ground and low trees, the cattle in the north acres settling in for the evening. Two ducks paddled across the still lake bordering her own two acres on the back lot. The sun reflected on the windows of her cabin nestled among paloverde trees at the lake’s edge. She’d love to take Whisper on a run before sunset, but not tonight.

When she turned her focus back to the veranda, Tico was watching her. Again.

“What?”

“I’d heard this land was beautiful, but I never imagined how much.”