If it wasn’t just lust, what was it then?
She stroked her chin pensively. Well, then she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. For the present, she needed a plan. She had to either get Dade completely out of her life, which meant evicting him, or embrace the chaos and just let him lead her into the abyss.
It was so scary and she immediately knew why. She feared losing control. Surrendering to love meant giving yourself over to another person.
Whoa.
Natalie returned to the window seat, picked up the notepad, tore a sheet from it, and began to write.
Dear Cupid,
Please help me. I’m in trouble deep.
Sometimes falling in love makes you feel like you’re drowning; just take a deep breath, relax, and you’ll float.
—MILLIE GREENWOOD
I
n the wee hours of Friday morning, four days after he rode into town, Dade closed down the bar, but he did not want to go back to the B&B. He didn’t trust himself around Natalie.
Jasper had told him if he ever needed it, the hammock on the back patio deck was available to him, just as long as it wasn’t being used by a customer who was too drunk to drive home.
If he went back to the Cupid’s Rest tonight, Dade didn’t trust himself. Natalie would be within reach, and he wanted her with a relentless fire, and that back door lock of hers wouldn’t hold back anyone determined to get in.
Dade stepped outside, looked up at the dark night sky filled with a million brilliant stars. Usually, the quiet night calmed him. Made him feel part of the universe. But tonight, the sky made him feel isolated, alone. Disturbed, he wandered around the side of the building and walked up on the back porch. The white hammock stood out in the shadows.
It was empty.
Relieved, Dade sank down into the hammock and let out a long breath. He didn’t have to go home.
Home.
Why did he keep referring to Cupid’s Rest as home?
He kicked off his cowboy boots, rested his hands on his belly, and closed his eyes. The second he did, he saw Natalie’s face, sweet, tempting, out-of-this world. He thought about the kisses they’d shared, the provocative taste of her lush lips. No doubt about it. The woman had crawled under his skin and wouldn’t get out.
This was dangerous stuff, not only for his peace of mind, but for Red’s sake as well. He couldn’t afford to give in to the attraction. He had to focus on finding his buddy.
Guilt dug into him then and Dade pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, and as he’d done several times a day since Red had sent the text message, he hit speed dial.
“
This is Red, you know the drill
.”
“Buddy,” Dade said, “where the hell are you? What’s happened? I’m here in Cupid, can’t find a trace of you. Then again you always were good at disappearing, but if you’re out there, please let me hear from you. I’m concerned.”
Discouraged, he hung up.
Dade stared at the phone and then called the number again just to hear Red’s voice. He had an awful feeling that his foster brother might be dead. “Nah, man, no. You can’t be dead. You’re friggin’ invincible.”
He blew out his breath, laid his cell phone on the small green table positioned near the hammock. “Swear to God, I don’t know what to do next. If I keep lying low, not telling anyone who I am, no one is going to talk to me about you, and I can’t blatantly ask without arousing suspicions, but it’s getting harder and harder for me to believe that someone in Cupid wanted to harm you. It’s a nice place. I can see why you decided to put roots down here.”
Paranoid delusions had been part of Red’s PTSD diagnosis, but just because you were paranoid didn’t mean that someone wasn’t out to get you. Dade couldn’t afford to assume anything. The “Tanked” Mayday message was serious. It was only to be used in case of an extreme emergency. Red would not use it lightly.
Dade fished in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the talisman he carried with him at all times. It was a handmade braided bracelet created of black Afghanistan wool, with a bullet casing threaded through the middle of it.
He closed his fist around the bullet casing, and his mind drifted back four years. He and Red had both just been discharged from the navy and they were sitting in a darkened bar in D.C., neither one of them speaking about what they’d gone through. In fact, they hardly spoke at all, just took periodic sips from their Michelob Lights and stared at the Dallas Cowboys battling Green Bay on the big-screen TV.
Then out of the blue, Red said, “Gimme your wrist.”
“What for?”
“Just give it to me.”
Curious, Dade had held out his left wrist.
Red took a small hank of black wool yarn from his pocket.
The sight of it caused Dade’s stomach to pitch. “Where’d you get that?”
“The girl.”
His muscles had tensed. “What girl?”
“Which one do you think?”
Dade’s stomach pitched. “She almost got me killed.”
“I know. I was there.” Red unrolled a piece of yarn, wrapped it around Dade’s wrist to measure, then added two inches and cut the yarn with his pocket knife. “You got a damn big wrist.”
“You think that’s big,” Dade had teased, desperate to lighten things. His thoughts had gone back to the Afghani girl and he did not want to think about her.
Red rolled his eyes and cut a second piece of yarn the same length as the first one. He continued to cut strands of yarn, using the first as a guide, until he had two piles of black strings.
Dade watched while Red began braiding the strands of yarns together. He corded all the strings in one pile, and then started on the other.
The Cowboys and Green Bay were tied, fourth quarter, two minutes to go. Dallas had the ball. It was fourth down and forty yards from the end zone, but Dade could not take his eyes off Red.
Red’s fingers flew and while the game broke for commercial, he finished the second braid. From his pocket, he pulled out two bullet casings. A hole had been drilled through the ends.
Dade sucked in air through clenched teeth. “Are those casings from—”
“Yep,” Red said, and slipped a bullet casing over each of the braided threads. He knotted the ends of each bracelet. He tied one bracelet around his left wrist, readjusting the knots to fit securely. When he was finished, he glanced at Dade’s wrist.
Dade held out his left arm.
The bullet casing was cool against his skin. Red tied the second bracelet around Dade’s wrist. They sat in silence, twin bracelets on their left arms.
Red took a sip of his beer. “So Romo,” he said, nodding at the TV. “Think he’ll take Dallas all the way this year?”
That was all he said. No need to explain what the bracelet meant. Dade knew.
We’ll always be connected
. They were brothers of the soul, if not of DNA and they would have each other’s backs until the end of time.
He’d worn the bracelet for years, until last week, just before Red had sent the text, the wool strands—frayed and weakened from years of use—had broken.
Dade hadn’t seen his buddy in two years, not since Red had left the security firm they went to work for postmilitary, and he regretted that. He hadn’t understood why Red left the security detail. It paid well, and after Afghanistan, it was like babysitting. Cushy, well paying, sure they sometimes got mixed up in some gray area misconduct, but that was the nature of the business.
“Why are you leaving?” Dade had asked, feeling a little betrayed by Red’s defection.
“This work is too much like war. I need to get the stink of war off me. You can come too,” Red had invited.
“Where are you going?”
“To find a place where I can settle down. See if I can become human.”
“Do you think that’s really possible for guys like us?”
“I have to hope,” Red said. “I have to have something more than this.”
Much as he loved his friend, Dade couldn’t imagine leading a routine life, staying in one place, being tied down. Not him. No way.
Natalie drifted over his thoughts. She was a woman who made him want to stay. He wished things were different. Wished he were different.
Dade reached up to finger his lips, smiled at the memory of their kisses. She was some kind of kisser.
Stop thinking about her. She’s nothing but a distraction.
Shifting in the hammock, he stared up at the stars, tried to remember the last time he and Red had a phone conversation. It had been near Easter when Red had called and tried to persuade him to come visit, but Dade had been in Saudi Arabia. He’d promised Red they’d get together whenever he got back to the States, but they hadn’t. He hadn’t even called Red when he’d gotten the Gulf of Mexico detail. He’d been so close and yet he hadn’t made the effort.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to see his buddy, because he certainly had. Rather, it was that he didn’t want to come to this picturesque community nestled in the crook of the Davis Mountains, and see what had lured Red away from him.
Red spoke so glowingly of Cupid that it made Dade a little jealous that Red had found a place that suited him. And maybe—if he were being honest with himself, he would admit that this was more likely—he was afraid he’d like Cupid and want to stay.
He did like it.
That was the problem.
He simply wasn’t the kind of guy who settled down. He had no idea how. He’d never been settled in his life. He didn’t belong anywhere, had never belonged, and he liked it that way.
Rolling stone.
He fingered the bracelet, rubbed the spent bullet casing between his thumb and index finger. The Bob Dylan song of the same name reverberated through his head.
“Like a Rolling Stone.”
Closing his eyes, he sighed, fought off visions of Natalie. No matter how much he wanted her, he couldn’t have her. Not for keeps anyway, and anything else was a complication he simply did not need.
Dade must have fallen asleep, because sometime later, he bolted awake.
His eyes popped open. Dark clouds had moved across the sky, drowning out the light. The black waters of Lake Cupid lapped against the dock below the deck. He lay in the hammock, ears cocked, muscles coiled tight, listening intently. He’d always been a light sleeper, mostly the results of being raised in a house of junkies, never knowing who was going to stumble in or what they might do. Under those circumstances a kid had to stay hypervigilant.
Wind chimes tinkled against each other. A dog barked. A whippoorwill called. The warm night air ruffled the hairs on his forearm.
He waited, curled his hands into fists, ready for a fight if need be.
A floorboard on the deck creaked.
A shadow moved.
“Who’s there?” he commanded.
Someone stepped forward and for one sweet second, he thought it was Natalie and that she’d come to be with him. His heart leaped.
Jackass.
“Señor,” whispered an urgent feminine voice. “I desperately need your help.”
Dade squinted into the darkness. It was a Mexican woman, neither young nor old, with her hair pulled back off her neck in a single long braid. Dade swung his legs over the side of the hammock, careful not to tip over.
“What can I do for you?”
She stopped mid-step, stared at him, muttered, “Oh no,” and immediately spun away from him.
Dade was upon her, grabbed her before she got to the first deck step, clung to her elbow.
She battled him, pounding at him with both hands.
“Stop fighting,” he growled, holding her tightly around the waist. “I’m not going to harm you.”
Her eyes widened as if she did not believe him. “You are not the gringo I am looking for.”
“Who
are
you looking for?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He grasped her shoulders, forced her to look him in the eyes, letting her know that he meant business. “Tell me.”
She turned her head away. “I do not know his name.”
“Then how do you know I am not the man you want?”
She peeked at him. “I was told the man I am to meet has red hair.”
“Red?” His breath stilled in his lungs. At last, a lead on Red’s whereabouts! “You came looking for Red?”
She nodded. “
Sí. Rojo
.”
“What do you want with him?”
A frightened expression crossed her face and she squirmed to get away. Dade tightened his grip. “What do you know about Red?” he demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Where is he?”
“I do not know,” she wailed.
“You’re lying.” He spit out the words. “What are you up to?”
“Please. My English. Not so good.”
“Bullshit. Your English is fine. You came here looking for Red. Who sent you?”
She shied from him. “Please, do not hurt me, señor.”
Dade grit his teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know where Red is.”
She trembled. “
Por favor
, my arm.”
Dade loosened his grip.
Settle down, Vega, you’re scaring her
. “Why did you come here in the middle of the night?”
She shrugged her huddled shoulders.
He took her chin in his palm and forced her to meet his gaze, saw stark fear in her eyes. “Tell me.”
“Señor, I cannot.”
Impatience kicked at him. “You said you needed help. I can help you.”
“Not you. No.” Violently, she shook her head.
“Give me a chance.”
“No.”
Frustrated, Dade shoved a hand through his hair. This woman knew something, but she wasn’t talking. It might not have a thing to do with Red’s disappearance, but this was the first viable clue he’d gotten since arriving in Cupid.
“You’re an illegal,” he guessed.
She nodded, eyes wide. “Please, please do not tell.”
“I’m not going to tell. I just want to find Señor Rojo. Are you Red’s . . .” He paused, searching for the Spanish word for girlfriend. “
Novia?
”
“No.”
Okay, so she wasn’t there for a romantic tryst. Why then was an illegal immigrant looking for Red? A handful of possibilities popped into his head, none of them pleasant.
You were supposed to settle down, buddy. Stay out of trouble. Not rescue damsels in distress.
She said something in Spanish that he didn’t understand. He didn’t know why she was here expecting to find Red, but one thing was clear. She was not going to tell him the reason. Plus, if she had expected to find Red here, that meant she didn’t know he was missing.
He released her arm.
She backed up.
“If you find Red, if you hear from him, call me.” He took a business card from his back pocket, passed it to her.
She tucked it into the bosom of her blouse, but he could tell from the expression on her face that there was no way in hell she was going to tell him anything.