“We could save time by calling ahead to see who carries the brand we’re looking for,” she said.
He shook his head. “Word of the explosion has probably gotten around, and community businessmen might be reluctant to talk to the police. They’ll want to avoid trouble and negative publicity. We’re more likely to get the information we need if we catch them off guard and question them face-to-face. Keep in mind, too, that any one of the people we talk to could be the bomber.”
“I was thinking I’d do the calling from my own cell phone. I’m not law enforcement. We could save ourselves a trip if they don’t carry the brand.”
“No, it’s still too risky. If the bomber’s also the killer, he knows your voice. He may panic and run.” He took a deep breath then let it out. “You should take my older brother’s advice about not leading with your chin.”
She smiled. “I can bide my time in an investigation but I’ve never been as patient as you are.”
He glanced at her, then back at the road. “We can’t afford to telegraph our moves. Surprise is one of the key elements in situations like these. It keeps witnesses off balance. Even the slowest thinker can set a plan in motion if you give them enough time.”
“In this particular instance, maybe your way’s better. But sometimes you have to cut corners. Big payoffs often come with the willingness to take a risk,” she said.
“I’m not opposed to taking risks. It all depends on what’s at stake,” he said, giving her a slow, lazy smile.
From anyone else, the gesture would have scarcely merited a second thought. Yet Travis had that indefinable something extra. It was a quality that was hard to describe. A man either had it or he didn’t. And Travis obviously had more than his share. She suppressed the shiver that shot up her spine.
“So where are we headed first?” she asked, seeing Travis turn west and go down a side street.
“Franklin’s Feed.”
“I remember that place,” she said as memories, mostly unwelcome, filled her mind.
“You worked there one summer in exchange for riding privileges. You were crazy about horses back in high school. You saved every penny you earned hoping to buy the Franklins’ old mare.”
“Mabel,” she said, nodding. “But I was never able to get enough cash together. It broke my heart when I finally realized that it just wasn’t going to happen.” She took a deep breath.
“But, in retrospect, it was a good thing. I would have had to sell her when my mom decided it was time for us to move again.”
“You got too attached to that old horse,” Travis said. “But I’ll say this. You were always happy when you were working in the barn.”
“Getting attached to things was easy for me back then,” she said.
“And now?”
It was the gentleness of his voice that somehow got past her defenses. “I don’t have horses, dogs or even a goldfish. Life is easier without emotional complications.”
“Maybe so, but I really enjoy having Crusher around,” he said, stopping at a red light. At the sound of his name, the dog stuck his head out between the front-seat backrests. “Down, Crusher,” Travis commanded. “He’s a great companion. Now that my brother’s moved out, it’s nice to know that even when I’m asleep, there’s someone watching my back.”
“So it’s a good thing for you that I’m here. Now you have two of us watching your back,” she said. “And best of all, only one of us drools.”
He looked at her, then dropped his gaze slowly, taking in the curve of her breasts, then working his way back up with equal thoroughness. When he finally met her gaze, he smiled. “Nope. You both drool.”
She burst out laughing. Travis had matured into one heck of a man. He commanded a situation without being overbearing and he was easy on the eyes. All in all, Travis was a minefield of temptations, but her instincts assured her that she’d found the right partner for what lay ahead.
“We’ll restore the balance,” he said, cutting into her thoughts. “We’ll cover each other’s back and do what has to be done.”
Chapter Four
As they rode in silence to the feed store on the southwestern edge of Three Rivers, his words echoed in her mind. Most of the high-impact men she’d known would have been reluctant to even allude to an equal partnership. Yet Travis’s brand of maleness wasn’t easily threatened because it was rooted in self-knowledge.
They soon arrived at Franklin’s Feed. To her surprise it hadn’t changed much over the years—except for a coat of paint, which was already fading. A graveled parking area still surrounded the small stucco building with the corrugated metal roof. A hitching rail stood beside the sidewalk, though she suspected it hadn’t been used in years. A store employee was currently helping a rancher load up his long-bed pickup truck with fifty-pound bags of sweet feed.
“Some things always stay the same,” she said. “Does Bob Franklin still run the place?”
“Bob’s retired. His son, Jim, our former classmate, is the one who handles the store these days. He’s a chip off the old block.”
They went inside, Crusher at heel on Travis’s left side. The store’s cat, an old gray of questionable breed, scampered out of the room and into one of the storage areas.
“Is Jim Franklin around?” Travis asked the middle-aged woman by the register.
A smiling face beneath a black baseball cap suddenly popped up from behind the main counter. “Hey, look what the cat dragged in!” Jim greeted. Well versed in the customs of the Navajo, Jim didn’t offer to shake hands. “So, what brings you here today?”
“Where can we talk in private?” Travis asked, keeping his voice low.
“Back room. Come on.” When Laura stepped up, he turned to look at her, did a double take, then smiled. “Skinny, is that you?” he drawled.
“Yeah, Jim. I didn’t think you’d recognize me,” she said, shaking his hand.
“You sure grew up,” he said, giving her a long once-over.
“She’s helping the department with an investigation,” Travis said, all business now.
She looked over at Travis, surprised by his abrupt change in tone. It wasn’t jealousy…more like defining boundaries. It was one of those guy things she’d never quite figured out.
Jim cleared his throat, obviously getting the message. “What’s up, buddy?” he said, keeping his voice low as they followed him into a storage room crowded with pallets of animal feed, stock tanks and fencing.
She noticed how he avoided calling Travis by name. She’d also remembered what Travis had taught them, that Navajos believed a person’s name had power that belonged to its owner. Using it needlessly depleted an individual of an asset that was uniquely theirs to draw on in times of trouble.
“I
