The Outsider's Redemption. Joanna Wayne
She watched as he deposited his money and punched in the number. His mouth moved, so he was talking to someone, but his scowl indicated he was not happy with the call. After a minute or two, he slammed the receiver into its cradle and climbed back behind the steering wheel.
“Did Dan tell you where we’re supposed to meet him?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound as if you like it.”
“Driving into Mexico with a pregnant woman is not my idea of fun, especially when we’ve spent the last two hours driving in the opposite direction.”
Without warning, her stomach turned inside out. “I didn’t bargain for going into Mexico.”
“You can always back out,” he said.
And if she didn’t know better, she’d think that was what he wanted her to do. But that wouldn’t make sense. He worked for Mr. Austin. “I won’t back out. I always keep my word. But I might pass out if we don’t stop for dinner soon.”
“Then dinner it is. Better to give the devil his due on a full stomach.”
“You know, Cody Gannon, half the time I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Then we should make a good pair, because I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here.”
He swerved out of the parking lot and onto the road. “The rest of the ride may be a little bumpy.”
“Why?”
“Look behind you.”
She did. “I see a highway, passing fence posts, and there’s some horses in that field we just passed.”
“There’s a blue car back there somewhere, too. He’s been with us for the past fifteen miles or so. When I slow down, he slows down.”
“So that’s why we’ve been racing along half the time and crawling the other half? Do you think it’s the man who attacked me at the airport?”
“Whoever it is, I plan to lose him. So make sure your seat belt’s buckled.”
She checked the buckle, excitement dancing along her nerve endings. A cute cowboy, a secret mission, and someone following them. If this were a movie, the action music would start up right now.
THE RESTAURANT where they stopped was little more than a clapboard shell with a roof, but the parking lot was crowded. New and old cars and several pickup trucks jammed into the narrow space in front of the building, and that was always a good sign. Eat where the locals chow down and you can’t go wrong.
Cody opened the door for Sarah and helped her out of the truck. She planted her feet on the cracked asphalt and then reached back for her coat.
“I don’t think you’ll need that.”
“Not for warmth, but if you think I’m going in there sporting bloodstains, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Well, excuuuse me. If I’d known I was dining with a fashion plate, I’d have wiped the dust off my boots. But I can tell you without walking in the door that no one in this place is going to get all bent out of shape over a couple of stains.”
“Nonetheless, I’ll wear my wrap. My mother always says that if you want to be treated like a lady, you should look and act like one.”
“Then I’m glad your mother wasn’t there to watch your performance in the airport.” But still he held her coat while she slid her arms into the sleeves.
Her hair brushed his fingers. The softness of the strands contrasted with the rough texture of the coat, and he jerked his hands away. She might look and act and even feel like a lady, but she wasn’t one. She was just another criminal playing innocent, and he was way too smart to fall for her act.
He opened the door to the restaurant and was greeted by an assault of odors and a sudden attack of homesickness. The peppers, the onions, the smell of freshly baked tortillas. It was like walking into Rosa’s kitchen back at the Smoking Barrel. Only it wasn’t his buddies sitting around the table but a room full of strangers.
A waitress with a tray laden with sizzling fajitas sashayed by them. “Welcome to Carmelita’s,” she said, flashing them a smile. “Sit where you like. I think there’s still some empty tables in the back.”
Sarah made her way through the maze of tables and mismatched chairs without waiting for him. He followed along behind, glancing about the room as he did. The place looked safe enough, mostly families and a few young guys still sporting ranch dust on their faded jeans. A pudgy woman in a flowered dress caught him staring her way and smiled. He smiled back.
All well and good. Not that he expected trouble in here. He’d watched his tail ever since they’d left the gas station, cut through a field and down a deserted road before pulling out on this highway. But the attack back at the airport had him spooked. And the first thing he’d learned from Mitchell Forbes had been to never let his guard down.
He’d made a mistake back at the airport, but he didn’t plan to make any more.
Sarah had already pulled out her own chair and taken a seat by the time he caught up with her. “Didn’t your mother tell you that a lady waits for a man to hold her chair?”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing that for myself.”
“Still, it makes me look bad.”
“I didn’t know you were into playing the gentleman.”
“A real cowboy doesn’t play at being a gentleman. It comes naturally.”
“Do tell. Then I may have to reconsider my opinion of the saying on my tote bag. I’m not used to dining with a gentleman.”
“I take it Todd wasn’t one.”
“He probably was in the beginning. You know how it is after you date the same person for a long time.”
“No, can’t say that I do. Not unless four or five dates qualifies as a long time.”
“Four or five dates? You could do that in a week.”
“Maybe you could. Ranching hours don’t lend themselves to that kind of courting, especially when the ranch is five miles past the end of the world.”
“So why aren’t you out on the edge of nowhere punching cattle tonight, Cody Gannon, instead of taxiing me around?”
The answer was simple enough, but he kept it to himself. He wasn’t punching cattle because he no longer had a job. He didn’t belong on the Smoking Barrel anymore. He didn’t belong anywhere, and even if he had, he wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it with Sarah.
If she had any idea that he was one of the good guys, that this was a trap, she’d run like a hellion at the first opportunity, maybe even destroy the disk completely. Or worse yet, actually get it to Calderone.
The waitress set a basket of greasy chips and a white crockery bowl of salsa in the center of the table. “Watch that stuff,” she said, tapping a painted fingernail on the edge of the bowl. “It’s hotter than a honeymoon hotel.” She laughed at her own joke and then pulled a pencil and order pad from her apron pocket. “What can I get you folks? Everything on the menu’s good and the bartender makes a great margarita.”
“I’ll take a beer,” Cody said. “Whatever you have on tap, as long as it’s cold. Maybe the lady would like a margarita.”
“Indeed not.” Sarah stared at him as if he’d committed a cardinal sin. “Alcohol is strictly off-limits for pregnant women. Haven’t you read the warnings? They’re posted on the bathroom door of every ladies’ room in the country.”
“Sorry. I don’t spend a lot of time hanging out in ladies’ rooms. But I wasn’t trying to force a drink on you. It was just a suggestion. Drink