desert landscape whizzed by, and the cacti hunched like little alien creatures with their arms raised to the sky, begging to return home. She could relate—not that L.A. held any charm for her anymore, except for her foster child Jesse, but she wanted to get back to her makeshift studio. She had the perfect subject for her next sculpture. Her gaze slid to the silent man beside her, his thumbs tapping in time to the music from the CD.
Could she tell Rod everything? When she had his face beneath her hands, she knew he’d accept nothing less than the truth. When he’d rescued her from those three morons on the side of the road, she knew a woman could depend on him. And yet… The man had his own demons to slay. Years of photographing and sculpting faces had taught her a thing or two about reading people.
Yeah, like you did such a good job reading Bobby Jingo.
She’d been watching the highway since they left Truth or Consequences. When a pair of headlights came up behind, Rod would slow down until the car passed them. No white Cadillac so far. Had Bobby’s men continued north? She shivered and clutched her bare arms.
“Are you cold?” Rod turned down the music and flipped off the air conditioning.
“No.” If Bobby had tracked her down, what had he done to her father? She gripped her hands in her lap. She’d better find out. “Can I borrow your cell phone to call my father?”
“If your father was at the wedding, do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Even if Bobby’s monitoring Dad’s calls, what’s he going to do with your cell phone number?”
“Harass me.”
She held out her hand. “You’re a big boy. You just single-handedly disposed of two of Bobby’s goons. What’s a little harassment?”
Rod plucked his phone out of his shirt pocket and dropped it into her open palm. “Be careful. Don’t tell him anything.”
Nodding, she punched in her father’s cell phone number. Dad picked up after the first ring.
“Dad, it’s me.”
He coughed. “What are you up to, Slim?”
He’d never called her Slim before. Didn’t much bother with nicknames. “Is Bobby there?”
“Yep. I bet on that pony once. Why’d you bet on him? Why’d you do it?”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I—I overheard a conversation.” She sent a sidelong glance toward Rod. “After that, I couldn’t go through with it.”
“That pony put me in a tight spot.”
She clenched her jaw. “Are you okay? Has he hurt you?”
“Not yet. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
Her father grunted, and then Bobby’s rough voice assaulted her over the line. “Where are you, bitch? I guess you found out that dear old Dad didn’t screw me over in a business deal. What else did you discover? My men told me you’re with some cowboy who rushed you off in his truck.”
“Did they also tell you that cowboy kicked their asses before we rushed off in his truck?”
Rod jerked his head around. “Is that him?”
Bobby cursed. “Nobody can protect you and nobody can protect your father. He owes me over a hundred grand for a gambling debt, and he’s going to pay. Then you’re going to—”
Rod snatched the phone from her hand. “Listen, you sonofabitch, the next time you send a couple of jokers after Callie, I’ll send them back to you with more than a few cuts and bruises. I’ll send them back to you in matching body bags.”
He snapped the phone shut and tossed it into the cup holder. Callie laughed. She grabbed the phone, powered down her window, and tossed it out.
Rod jerked his head around. “Why’d you do that?”
“Bobby might be able to trace your phone and track us down.” She brushed her hands together as if ridding herself of a pesky bug.
In the few months she’d known Bobby Jingo, she never heard anyone talk to him like that before. It gave her confidence that she could handle the man. Rod gave her confidence.
“Is your father okay?”
“For now. Where are we going?”
“Here.” He took the next exit toward Hillsboro. “Hillsboro is a ghost town, an old mining town.”
“You’re taking me to a ghost town?” Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She didn’t need any more scares tonight.
“Only one part of it is ghostly. People still live in Hillsboro. There are even a few art galleries.”
Leaning over, she peered at the digital clock on the dashboard. “I’ll bet you there’s nobody awake in Hillsboro at eight-thirty on a Saturday night. Except the ghosts.”
“We’re not going there to kick up our heels.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they tooled along Main Street. A few shops had their lights on, and Callie didn’t see one ghost.
Rod pulled up next to a church. They got out of the truck, walked up to the church and stood on the bottom step. “We can see every car that comes into town from here.”
“And if one of them is a white Caddy?”
“Bring it.” He patted the black fanny pack he’d buckled around his hips when he got out of the truck.
She raised her brows and smirked. “You’re going to beat them back with the contents of a fanny pack?”
“This is a gun bag, not a fanny pack, and the contents include one Smith&Wesson pistol.”
“Oh.” She gulped. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about those body bags. “Where’d you get that?”
“Beneath the seat of my truck.”
Good thing she didn’t see that when he first picked her up, or she’d have jumped out of the truck on the interstate. Now that cold metal made her feel warm and fuzzy.
He grabbed her hand and led her to the top step. “Do you want to go inside?”
“Are guns allowed in churches?”
“Ever hear ‘Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition’?”
She giggled, and it released a little knot in her chest. She could do this. She could trust Rod.
“I think I’d rather keep an eye on the road.” She sank to the church step, the skirt of the wedding dress billowing around her.
Right location. Right dress. Wrong occasion.
Rod
