Desert Heat. Kathleen Pickering

Just been a long time since I’ve ridden.”

      “Well, I’m sure you’ll earn the horse’s respect by the time you get into town.”

      Tico shook his head. “Can horses be bribed to behave?”

      Not quite suppressing a grin, Quinto glanced at the horse. “This is Charlie Samuels’s mount. I’d say not a chance in hell.” He handed Tico the reins. “It’s about twenty minutes to the station. Good luck.”

      Tico stared Diablo in the eye. “No more games, buster. We’ve got a job to do.”

      This time, the horse let him mount, then stood there. Tico made sure his feet were secure in the stirrups. He flicked the reins. “Giddyap!”

      The horse didn’t move.

      Officer Quinto had already climbed back into the patrol car. Tico could see the driver shake his head slowly as Quinto no doubt explained to him what was going on.

      Yeah. He looked like a clown to these guys. He didn’t mind, but he needed this damned horse to cooperate.

      He kicked the horse’s flanks with both heels, and Diablo took off. “Whooooooaaaaa!”

      Tico worked to keep his seat while the horse galloped along the road into town. He’d be one sore son of a gun when this was over, but he had no choice. It was taking Tico years to regain the respect of his New York peers with his hard-nosed, unflinching approach to detective work, but he didn’t have time to prove his worth here. He had to win over the Adobe Creek team. While humor had been his intent, he wanted to make his new colleagues laugh, not make a goddamn fool of himself.

      The horse had taken to the pavement from the desert. He’d slowed his pace to a brisk walk but was hogging the center of the road. Tico used the reins as he remembered, but nothing he did convinced the horse to move over. From the way the traffic was being held up behind him, then passing him with dirty looks, it seemed that this freaking horse would sabotage his plans. He was losing to Diablo by the minute. Best he could do was pretend he wanted his mount to be unruly.

      Tico let out a breath as he viewed the footprint of the small town nestled in the foothills. The mountains in the distance framed what looked like something out of an old Western mining town. From the elevation in the road, he could see Main Street—the busiest part of town. Not one high-rise dotted the vista. Just low adobe structures and wood-front buildings painted brown and white, or yellow or barn-red, with shutters on windows and signs over the doors.

      In the foothills, the whitewashed adobe enclave of the Quarry sprawled like a wedge of Hollywood among the tumbleweeds. He’d read all about this celebrity hot spot in his review of the case. The Quarry, a now defunct silver mine, had been backfilled, landscaped and rebuilt into a spa community that managed to attract the rich and famous who wanted anonymity and seclusion. Celebrities owned private homes there, but vacation haciendas were available for anyone with means to pay the outrageous rent.

      Tico used his sleeve to swipe the sweat off his brow. Damn climate roasted around here. He wished he’d thought to bring a canteen of water to round out his outfit. He looked like a goof in his City Slickers cowboy costume.

      Softening his tough-guy reputation for the detectives of Adobe Creek had seemed like a good idea while driving across country. Especially for Meg Flores, who was the squad leader and hadn’t asked for Tico’s help. He’d been called in because the task force leader in that area wanted to make sure level heads led this sting. Once Meg Flores discovered who specifically had requested his help, she’d like him even less. That wouldn’t do when he needed everyone’s cooperation to get the job done.

      Tico didn’t underestimate the loyalty investigative teams held for each other. He’d learned that fact early on through the gangs he’d once known all too well. He’d also learned that the way into enemy territory was easiest when your adversaries thought you were harmless. From the line of cars—including the police cruiser—following him now, he’d say he was achieving the desired effect. The derogatory comments flying from drivers’ windows were proof enough.

      The procession on the two-lane road grew longer and agitated the horse even more. With every sounding horn Diablo grew more skittish. Thankfully, the Adobe Creek Police Department, the only modern facility in this currently one-horse town, was a stone’s throw away. And look there. A welcome committee stood in the shade of the carport by the front door, watching him. The woman standing between the two men was Meg Flores. And no surprise, she looked better in real life than in her photo—even from this distance.

      Tico concentrated on maneuvering Diablo under the overhang. He pulled the reins to the left, leading them toward the entrance, when the stallion reared unexpectedly, came down hard, then reared again. Arms flailing, hat flying, Butler landed flat on his back in a cloud of dirt. Passersby in cars yelled for him to trade his horse for a car and sped on. Folks on the sidewalk clapped and hooted with glee.

      Tico lay with his eyes closed, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. Meg Flores’s laughter blended with the guffaws of her two teammates. Her voice penetrated his mind like a double shot of whiskey. If she spoke the same way she laughed, the girl had one sexy voice. He would have laughed, too, if breathing wasn’t so difficult. Inwardly, he grinned, despite his discomfort. He’d gotten the reaction he wanted, although not exactly how he’d intended. If only it didn’t feel as though he’d just broken every bone in his body.

      With eyes still closed, he absorbed the jokes flying at his expense. His senses homed in on the sound of footsteps coming toward him. A cowboy-boot stride with attitude. He’d bet a month’s pay he knew who the boots belonged to. Wondering if she’d act the part of rescuer, he kept his eyes shut. All expectations dashed when, still chuckling, she whispered to his horse, “Good job for throwing this bozo, fella.”

      He opened his eyes in time to see the sole of a cowboy boot press down on his chest. The curious stare of one Meg Flores flattened him more than he already was. Damn, she was smoking hot! The reins dangled from her right hand. Diablo glared at him from over her shoulder.

      Traitor horse.

      “Can I get you a taxi back to New York, Detective?”

      Tico laughed out loud. His sides ached. His butt hurt. He didn’t care. So, this was Meg Flores. Tough. Defensive. Acting exactly as he’d expected she would in the face of his arrival. He’d heard she had guts, but no amount of research could have prepared him for the way those dark, proud bedroom eyes leveled him faster than the horse had. For one dazed moment he forgot he was on his back as he inhaled a scorching breath. Unwilling to succumb to his reaction to her, he let an easy grin cross his mouth.

      He pointed to the horse, who he swore was looking smug behind her. “You guys really ride those things around here?”

      She watched him a moment, her face unreadable. “I’ve never seen a horse look more embarrassed in my life. This must be your first time out West.” She tapped the toy sheriff’s badge on his chest with the toe of her boot. “Did the kids at school give you that star as a goodbye gift?”

      He pushed her foot away and pulled himself upright. He’d be sporting yet another fine bruise on his hip from this latest fall. He used his hat to dust himself off—especially her boot print on his shirt—only to give up. This dirt was impossible to remove. He totally ignored the insult that had been aimed at his ego.

      He took a moment to size up Meg and liked what he saw. Curves in jeans, a tailored white shirt and a navy blazer. Fit. Judging from the roots at her part, her once dark brown hair about as long as his own had been dyed blond. A heart-shaped face, sweet lips and those big brown eyes made her look too gorgeous to be a police detective. She was just a few inches shorter than he, and, from her bearing alone, he could see she’d be able to hold her own in a tussle. Something in the challenge of her stance had him wanting to test her. Her chin might give away her attitude, but those pursed lips nipped at his heart in an unfamiliar way.

      Tico ran a hand through his hair. “I thought anyone could just hop in the saddle and ride. It sure looked easy in the movies.”

      Her