“Nobody was looking for some of his horses,” he explained, like that made any sense.
Sure, she thought, checking his pulse again. Nobody has horses.
“And he thought he saw some ranchers slaughtering some cattle in the open field. That’s not normal, not for beef. But when he got closer to try and see what they were doing, he got shot.”
“Okay...” His pulse was steady and strong. He was telling the truth. He was finally telling her the truth. Or at least he thought he was—and wasn’t that the same thing? “Someone tried to kill him to keep him from finding out what they were doing?”
“That’s what we thought. So he went back. And Saturday night, he saw they were getting ready to do it again. So he came and got me.”
What was he talking about—industrial espionage? She was finding out what the hell was going on, and she still had no idea. “And this has what, again, to do with your little vision spasm?”
“Understand the past, understand the future.”
Her eyes rolled all by themselves. “Enough with the medicine-man crap, Rebel. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s the cattle. That rancher...” He sighed, then leaned forward and kissed her head. “If I tell you, you lose all plausible deniability.”
So Albert wasn’t the only one who didn’t want her to worry. Her heart gave her stomach a firm shove. “I can lie.”
That got a smile out of him. “Not to me, you can’t.”
She ignored the unsettling implication. “Rebel, you can trust me.” He’d said so himself, after all.
“That rancher is paid by the government to provide beef to the tribe.”
That couldn’t be it. Maybe hundreds of years ago, sheer racism led to institutionalized eradication. But businessmen today didn’t just kill off paying customers. “And?”
“He owns the land next to the White Sandy. The tribe controls the river, and we won’t let him use it for irrigating or anything. He wants our land. For the water rights. If enough people get sick, the tribal council might have to sell the water rights, just to stay afloat.”
“Are you sure?” Because that couldn’t be it. This was the twenty-first century, for God’s sake. No one just tried to take out a whole people anymore.
He shook his head in defeat. “No. I don’t have any proof beyond what’s in those bags. I think he’s doing something that contaminates the beef, and the beef is making the people sick. I don’t think it’s the flu. But I don’t know what else it could be. I don’t even know if I’m right.”
“And you need me to find out.”
He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “I need you, Madeline.” His voice was warm and close to her ear. “I’ve always needed you.”
Mush. Her brain went to mush. She knew she was supposed to be mad—furious—with him. She was supposed to kick him out of here, forbid him from darkening her door ever again, and most certainly to stop touching her. But his lips pressed into the sensitive skin just below her earlobe, and she shuddered.
“You’re doing it again,” she managed to murmur. “Changing the subject.”
His lips didn’t leave her skin as he spoke. “Have you had dinner?”
“Excuse me?” Talk about changing the subject.
“After we’re—” this time, his teeth scraped against her skin, “—done here, I’ll take you to see Albert. He’s making dinner for us. And you can see for yourself that he’s okay. If you don’t mind making house calls, that is.”
Was there anything softer than mush? Because that was what her brain was right now. Her head was spinning. What else did they have to do? Did he have supplies at the ready? Maybe it hadn’t been a case of heat stroke. Maybe this was just how he made her feel, because she was light-headed and confused and in real danger of swooning.
Baggies. House calls. Albert. Dinner. He would take her to see Albert.
Damn it all. She had a job to do.
Half an hour later, Rebel let Blue Eye keep an easy lope as Madeline followed in her Jeep. They were cruising at about ten miles an hour on the dirt road that lead back to Albert’s house. She was leaning out the window, trying to egg Blue Eye on faster and faster as she beamed that high-watt smile at him, like she couldn’t believe her eyes. Dinner was waiting for them—a real dinner, complete with ripe strawberries, the season’s first green beans and a fresh-baked chocolate cake. Albert’s favorite.
He didn’t want to go faster. Faster would mean sooner. The sooner they got there, the sooner she’d see everything. And all he could think was, this was not a good idea.