High Desert Heat

By Wanda McLaughlin

HIGH DESERT HEAT

Left penniless after her husband's untimely death, Geri Whittier was devastated to learn he'd led a secret life—shattering her illusion of their perfect marriage. After moving in with her daughter and family in their spacious North Scottsdale home, she spends the days searching for a job so she can begin her new life.

 

While walking in the neighborhood, Geri comes to the rescue of Reyna Mendoza, a pregnant teen. Reyna warns Geri to leave before her companion Chaco returns. But when the surly Chaco arrives and tells Geri to stay away from Reyna, she ignores his warning. On her way to meet Reyna the next day, Geri meets a neighbor, Art Coltrane, whose cowboy manners and rugged good looks make romance seem possible.

 

Geri's friendship with Reyna proves to be a bad idea, especially after Reyna's father, mysterious Arabian horse breeder, Luis Mendoza, threatens her. When Geri interferes with Mendoza's nefarious plans for his daughter and soon-to-be-born grandson, he orders Chaco to discourage her, with unforeseen consequences.

 

Soon, forces converge in the high desert as El Cortalo, drug lord and vicious killer, targets Geri and Art, while Reyna is forced to choose between her father and her child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wanda McLaughlin
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215920145

Wanda McLaughlin

Wanda McLaughlin has published numerous short stories in a variety of magazines, both print and online. Two of her short stories have received awards from Escondido and Oceanside annual writers’ contests. High Desert Heat is the first book in a series of romantic suspense novels featuring a mature protagonist. She has been recognized by the Southern California Writers Conference for her cozy mystery novel, Murder Most Fowl and is currently working on the second book in that series. A graduate of the University of Texas, Wanda lives in Vista, CA, near San Diego.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Inside the stable on a ranch in the mountains above Tijuana, the dimly lit horse stall cast shadows of three men looking down at the bloody and broken body sprawled on the straw-littered floor.

The man nearest the body, his custom-made leather boots splattered with blood, was El Crotalo, the Viper. He owned the secluded rancho and was one of Mexico’s most feared drug lords. Breathing heavily, he stared at his handiwork as he flexed his raw knuckles.

How dare you betray me, he said, his rage intensifying as he thought of the young man’s crime.

Two of his lieutenants stood by, ready to come to his aid if needed. Although, to El Crotalo’s credit, the man had dealt with this piece of business on his own, thus solidifying his reputation and control.

The drug lord drew back his foot and landed a vicious kick to the young man’s kidney, then another and another until sweat gleamed on his face. He panted from the effort. Surely, the swine was dead by now.

"El machete," he ordered.

Pepe, a wiry man standing nearby, loped down the stable’s concrete runway separating the eight horse stalls. He went into the tack room and took a long machete from its sheath hanging from the wood-pegged wall. He returned and handed the weapon to his jefe.

A second man leaned lazily against the back wall of the stall, his dark eyes shining in anticipation. Word would go out about the blood spilled tonight and strike terror in the hearts of all who dared challenge El Crotalo’s authority.

Taking the machete in both hands, El Crotalo ended the young man’s life with one swift stroke.

Handing Pepe the weapon, El Crotalo looked at his boots and wiped them on a bale of straw. Clean up this mess, he ordered, and walked out of the stable toward his palatial estate.

A warm breeze flowed from the East, bringing with it the scent of creosote, sage, and manzanita. Dawn broke, the sun spreading its tendrils across the damp grass as El Crotalo pulled out his phone and called his faithful lieutenant in Arizona.

CHAPTER 1

Geraldine Whittier sat across from the manager in Devine Design’s stockroom. A perky, blonde woman in her early twenties, she held Geri’s résumé like yesterday’s bad news and conducted this joke of an interview while constantly looking at her phone.

The small room was warm, causing perspiration to gather along Geri’s brow. Great, she thought, wishing she had a tissue. Her hands were also damp, but Geri chalked that up to nervousness. After all, it had been years since she’d last interviewed for a job.

Have you worked in retail before? The young woman glanced up, staring at her as if she’d flown in from Mars.

Geri had followed the advice of an online job search expert to keep the résumé to one page, summarize skills in a brief opening paragraph, and leave off dates of college education.

Yes, while I was in college.

How long ago was that? the young woman asked.

Damn. Even though Geri knew the question was discriminatory, she felt trapped. 1986.

From there, the interview went downhill as the manager droned on about styles and markets changing over the years.

She wanted to scream, Look at my clothes, you numbskull. I’m not wearing shoulder pads, am I? Fearing she’d lose control, she choked back her words, instead saying, I’m a hard worker and quick learner.

The woman waved at a stack of resumes on her desk. I have plenty of applicants with recent experience. She stood, not looking Geri in the eye, and thrust out her hand. Sorry, but I’ll have to pass this time.

Minutes later Geri stood outside the business, feeling as if she was having a heart attack. More likely, it was only panic. Bending over, hands on her knees, she took a deep breath until her heart stopped its rapid beating and trudged to the bus stop.

She’d read everything she could about finding the right career path, road map, or life course, the usual damn buzz words. But all she needed was a job. She dropped onto the bench beneath the shaded bus stop, ashamed of the urge that almost had her committing assault on a perfectly decent young woman. Another rejection because she lacked experience and—this really angered her—her age.

The afternoon sun beat down as Geri stepped out of the bus a half-mile from her daughter’s north Scottsdale home. After that disastrous interview, she needed the walk to let off steam. More exercise, less time to brood. Contrary to what that twit at Divine Designs thinks, I’m not a doddering crone who can’t manage on my own.

THE HOUSE WAS QUIET as Geri entered the entryway of the two-story stucco dwelling. She walked into the oversized kitchen and started coffee brewing. Although grateful that her daughter, Janet, had offered her a place to stay, Geri knew it couldn’t last forever. Especially given the cool manner in which Stafford treated her. She could only guess he resented the renewed closeness between her and Janet.

Geri and Wynn had made semi-annual visits to the couple since they married, usually Thanksgiving or Christmas and during the summer. After her granddaughters were born, Geri expanded those visits to stay with the children while Janet and Stafford took vacations.

There had been an underlying emotional, as well as physical, distance between mother and daughter. then. Of course, living 1,000 miles away in Dallas hadn’t helped. But over the past six months, since Geri moved in after Wynn’s death, their closeness had returned. No way would she jeopardize their relationship by being a financial burden.

She felt a tremor of fear as she thought of the bleak future ahead. She shook it off and grabbed a mug. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

The front door slammed, bringing laughter and chatter from her two granddaughters. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Two o’clock. They were early.

I’m in the kitchen, she called out.

The girls—eight-year-old Samantha, who everyone called Sammy, and ten-year-old femme fatale-in-training Emily, who no one dared call a nickname—sauntered into the kitchen.

Hi, Nana. What’s new? asked Sammy, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the large marble-topped island.

Not much, Geri said. How’s about a hug? Wouldn’t be long before hugs were off-limits, even from a loving grandmother. She relished the scent of youth mixed with an unconditional love that flowed from both girls.

Geri turned back to the coffee urn and poured herself a cup.

Emily’s face brightened. Hey, how about a cup for me?

Not on your life, kiddo. Your mom would draw and quarter me. She put the pot back. Anyway, why are you home from school this early?

Teacher’s workshop. Emily pulled out a stool and sat at the island.

Sammy giggled. What’s draw and quarter, Nana?

As Geri explained, her mind drifted away from her futile job search. She welcomed the diversion. While the girls nibbled on snacks, Geri concentrated on hearing about their day.

What do you want for dinner? Geri asked. The three of them decided on pasta, a family favorite. She turned over the job of salad-making to the girls.

When she moved in, she agreed to take care of dinner and general housekeeping until she found work. Her son-in-law seemed amenable to anything, as long as she didn’t touch the remote or disturb him in his office. So far it was working out, but Geri knew she needed to get on with her life. First, a job, then an apartment, and then —.

Sammy grabbed one of Emily’s chips, then Emily pushed Sammy. Geri settled the squabbling by sending them to their rooms to do homework and retreated to her own room. She needed some down-time, maybe work on her résumé. Though fat chance of anybody actually reading it.

By five-thirty, dinner was almost ready. Geri and the girls were in the kitchen when her daughter, Janet Bigelow, entered from the garage.

Hello, family, she said, stooping to plant kisses on her daughters’ cheeks. A high-powered attorney on her way to a partnership in the prestigious law firm of Benton, Lakes, and Cooley, Janet’s energy engulfed the room before she hurried through and dropped off her briefcase in the hallway.

See ya in a few, she called as she ran upstairs.

After changing, Janet returned to the kitchen and helped Geri with the rest of the dinner. By six-thirty, the four of them were eating. Stafford was absent, having made plans to join colleagues for dinner.

So, Mom, how was your interview? Janet asked, spearing part of a meatball and swirling pasta around it on its way to her mouth.

The shop was nice, Geri said, and the manager, a young woman, was friendly. She had a lot of applicants and still hasn’t decided. I might hear back from her. Geri lowered her eyes and concentrated on her food. 

CHAPTER 2

The next morning Geri awoke, determined that by day’s end she’d have a job. Time to use a different tactic. She Googled another nearby shopping center and wrote the name of every business in the center, then researched those with websites online.

By ten o’clock, dressed and ready to leave, with ten resumes printed out, and a list of promising businesses, Geri called a ride-share service. Even in February, the sun and wind could ruin makeup and hair during a half-hour walk.

The center stood across the street from the one where she’d had her interview the day before. Maybe today would be different. She walked into her first stop—a gift shop, which even had a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window. The manager apologized, telling Geri she just hired someone and neglected to remove the sign.

Two hours later, after seven flat-out ‘no thank you, we aren’t hiring’ turndowns, she had talked to two managers: one, at a small deli, promised to contact Geri if she needed someone in the future; the other, a wine and liquor retailer, quizzed Geri on her knowledge of wine.  

I can tell the difference between a pinot noir and a white zinfandel, Geri said. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough, but the manager, a middle-aged woman, kept her resume and promised to call if a position became available. Now she’d return home and start the process all over again.

Would she ever find work again? She waited for the bus, eyes burning, a knot in her throat. She blotted her tears with a tissue as the 12:40 p.m. bus appeared and she boarded, counting out the dollar-fifty fare. Six months without an income had dug into her savings. She hated to think what would happen when her money ran out. A future of living in her daughter’s home wasn’t a pleasant thought. She got off the bus and crossed the street. Only a few blocks before she reached home.

As she walked, perspiration beaded on her upper lip and dampened her underarms. So much for antiperspirants. Not even spring and already this warm. Geri dreaded to think of the long hot days ahead.

After entering the gated subdivision of custom-built homes, Geri slowed to survey the variety of xeriscapes she passed. Boulders, succulents and desert trees filled the yards, adding touches of color to gravel and sand. Geri was happy that her daughter and family had settled in such a beautiful neighborhood, although it meant a long commute into Phoenix, where Janet worked.

What she wasn’t happy about could fill volumes. She’d been in a long-term marriage to her college sweetheart, Wynn, until he died six months ago. Grief-stricken at first, it devastated Geri when, within days of his death, she found out not only was she widowed, but broke. But the biggest blow came when Geri discovered her husband had lived a secret life for years before his death.

Now she scoured the want ads, looking for work while living in a household with two granddaughters, a working mom, and a son-in-law on sabbatical from his job as a history professor at Arizona State University.

Nothing like the life she’d lived in Dallas, where Wynn made a good living as a pharmaceutical sales rep while she took care of the household. A car sped by, interrupting Geri’s brief detour into the past. She’d missed her street. As she turned back, screams penetrated the silence. What in the world?

The screams came from a large Santa Fe-style house in the middle of the block. She ran across the street to the front door as a woman dashed out, almost knocking her down.

What’s wrong? Geri asked.

Help me! Crying and shaking, the woman, who appeared to be a pregnant young Latina, pointed toward the house. "Tarantula in my house.

Speaking a torrent of Spanish and English, she took Geri’s hand and pulled her toward the front door. In there, she pointed. "There, en el piso."

Geri motioned for the girl to stay back as she entered the hallway. She saw nothing until she walked into the family room. There, on the hardwood floor, was a huge dark brown tarantula crawling toward her.

Now, now, little man. Come to mama, Geri said in a low, soothing voice. I know you’re afraid, but I won’t hurt you.

She walked closer, kneeled in front of the giant spider, and laid her arm inches away from it. Slowly, it crept toward her, its orange-striped legs moving in a mesmerizing rhythm. Within seconds, the fuzzy creature had crept into her hand. Its legs caused a tickling sensation as it crawled up her arm.

Don’t be frightened. Geri moved toward the sliding glass door a few feet away. She opened it and stepped out onto the patio. By this time, the furry beast had reached her shoulder. There was a gasp behind her.

She turned to see the young woman, only a teenager, at the open door, her face pale. Don’t say a word. You might startle it. I’ll let it loose beyond your fence.

Geri walked around a sparkling swimming pool to a gate that opened into the desert. She removed the tarantula gently from her shoulder and placed it near an outcropping of rocks. Hesitating for a few seconds, the spider scuttled across the sand and disappeared. Geri brushed off her hands, closed the gate and walked back to the girl.

How could you touch it? she asked as Geri approached. You have much courage.

Doesn’t take courage. Tarantulas are docile, especially the brown variety. They only bite if they feel threatened. Some people keep them as pets.

The girl shuddered and shook her head. Never.

Geri put her arm around the girl’s shoulder and led her inside. Sit. You’ve had quite a fright. She walked toward the kitchen. I’ll bring you some water. She washed her hands, rummaged through a cabinet for a glass, then filled it from the tap.

My name’s Geraldine Whittier, but my friends call me Geri. She handed the water to the girl, who sat at the dining room table. What’s your name?

Reyna. Reyna Mendoza.

Nice name. When’s your baby due? Geri nodded toward the girl’s stomach.

Reyna glanced down and burst into tears.

Geri pulled out a chair and sat. Hey, the spider’s gone and, believe me, if you keep the door closed, he won’t be back. She patted the girl’s shoulder. Poor thing, hardly more than a child.

The girl continued crying, shaking her head. My baby. Maybe he’ll be marked like the spider.

Geri stifled a smile. Seeing the spider won’t harm your baby, dear. Here in the States we call stories like that Old Wives’ Tales. They’re nonsense. She hoped the girl would calm down before she left her. When’s the baby due?

Reaching into her front pocket, Reyna pulled out a tissue and wiped her nose. Her tear-stained face became radiant. You think the baby will not be marked?

Definitely not. Geri glanced at her watch and stood. I have to go now, but don’t worry about the baby.

Reyna hadn’t answered her question about the baby’s due date, but from the looks of her, she must be in her last trimester. Geri picked up her purse and headed for the door.

The girl followed. Please, you must let me repay you for your kindness, she said.

I only did what anyone would do, Geri said. Are you living here alone?

This is my father’s home, Reyna said, but he doesn’t live here all the time.

Geri dug in her purse, pulled out an old receipt and wrote her phone number on it. She handed it to the girl. If you want to talk, call me.

Reyna tucked the paper in her pocket. The baby’s father was to join me, but I haven’t heard from him since I arrived a week ago. As she spoke, another torrent of tears erupted.

Hormones. You’ve had a scare and you need support, Geri said. She put a hand on Reyna’s shoulder to comfort her. Maybe you should rest for a while. She hesitated for a minute and then asked. Are you alone today?

No. While my father is away, Chaco, his employee, takes care of me and the house. He left an hour ago to do shopping. She looked alarmed as she glanced at the clock on the wall. "Ay Dios mio. He’s due back any minute. I’m not allowed to have visitors. She lowered her voice as she hustled Geri to the front door. You must go."

Reyna rushed Geri out the door before she could ask any more questions. As the lock clicked behind her, a black Mercedes swerved into the driveway and screeched to a stop.

The car door opened as Geri hurried down the front steps. A thick-set, dark-haired man dressed in slacks and a pullover shirt swiveled from the driver’s seat. He adjusted his pants, pulled up his sunglasses, and stared in her direction. She stopped and waited as he walked over to her.

Whatcha doin’ here, lady? the man asked. He kept one hand behind his back as he approached. His other arm was etched with a finely drawn tattoo of the devil, an evil grin on its mouth. More lines of dark ink disappeared into his sleeve.

Remembering Reyna’s warning, she said, Nothing. I needed directions back to my daughter’s home. She smiled in a friendly way, but he didn’t return her smile. I rang the bell, but no one answered. Now I see why.

Geri named her daughter’s street. Do you know how to get there from here? Evidently, I took a wrong turn from the bus stop.

"Mujer estúpida, he muttered under his breath. Don’t come around here again." He turned dismissively, stomped back to his car, opened the trunk and unloaded bags of groceries.

Geri walked away, wondering what Reyna meant about not having visitors. Reyna wasn’t locked in the house while Chaco was gone, so she wasn’t a prisoner. The father’s man, Chaco, was unpleasant, rude even. He had a tattoo, but that was the fashion now. Didn’t mean he was a thug. She knew enough Spanish to know he called her stupid.

He had kept his right hand out of sight behind him as he walked toward her. Could there have been a gun or knife under that pullover? A vision of those weapons raced through her brain, but she shook it off. Get real. Soon her imagination will turn Chaco into a serial killer. Better stop reading those grisly mysteries she loved.

She turned toward her daughter’s home. Considering the mess Reyna was in, there were worse things than being broke and unemployed.

CHACO BROUGHT THE GROCERIES inside and set them on the counter. Reyna? he shouted. Come here.

Reyna walked in, face flushed, hands twisting the folds of her blouse. Hello, Chaco. I didn’t know you had returned.

That woman outside. Did you talk to her? Chaco moved closer, menace in his narrow eyes.

No, I...I don’t know of any woman. Reyna stepped back, wringing her hands.

Liar. Tell me the truth. He reached out and grabbed her arms. What did she want?

Reyna burst into tears. There was a spider in the house. She heard me scream and came to help. She only got rid of the spider. I swear, Chaco. She swiped at her eyes, pulled a tissue from her pocket, and wiped mucus from her nose.

Chaco released her and shook his finger at her face. Don’t let it happen again. Your father will not be pleased to hear of this.

He turned back to the groceries. After I put these away, I’ll prepare lunch. I’ll call you when it’s ready.

Reyna sniffled, then hurried to her room. She wished Señora Geri were still here. The woman was kind. I could call her, just to talk. What harm would that be? She pulled the piece of paper out of her pocket and hid it in her jewelry case.

CHAPTER 3

With Stafford out, Geri enjoyed a quiet afternoon until Sammy and Emily got home from school. After providing snacks, she left the girls to do their homework and prepared a salad for dinner. A chicken casserole was ready to pop into the oven when Janet came home. Glancing at her phone, Geri went upstairs and spent an hour searching for job openings until she heard Janet’s voice.

Geri shut the cover on her tablet and went downstairs to greet her daughter. Dinner’s ready for the oven, and I made a salad.

Great. I’ll go up and change. Sammy and Emily competed for Janet’s attention, requesting her to sign permission slips for a class trip, help with homework and, from Emily, permission to go to her friend Hannah’s house after school the next day.

Whoa, said Janet. Let me put my briefcase down and change clothes. She turned to Geri. Have you seen Stafford? He’s usually in the living room watching the news around this time.

Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him since I got home. Geri put the casserole in the oven.

Must’ve had an appointment. Janet pointed at the girls. I’ll consider all your requests after I change clothes. Deal?

The girls grumbled, then Emily said, Sure, Mom. She motioned to Sammy. C’mon, let’s go outside and play Frisbee. Sammy’s face lit up and she raced Emily to the door.

I’ll be right back. Janet left the kitchen, briefcase in hand.

By the time she returned, wearing yoga pants and an oversized tee, the girls were back inside, washed up and ready to eat.

Stafford still hadn’t returned, but that wasn’t unusual. Lately, he’d been meeting with his agent more frequently, trying to find a publisher for his 600-page novel set during the War of 1812. Soon, he’d have to return to his job at the university, so he was eager for the book to be published.

Tired of constantly talking about her failures finding a job, Geri told them about the spider.

Oh, I had an interesting adventure today while taking a walk. No sense telling Janet about another fruitless morning looking for work. Instead, Geri described capturing the tarantula and the frightened young pregnant woman. She didn’t mention the menacing man. Sammy laughed, but Emily shivered at the description of the spider. Both girls looked at their grandmother with newfound respect.

Remember when I had a pet tarantula? Janet asked. The girls squealed in disbelief. Oh, yes, I haven’t always been quiet Janet Bigelow, super mom and lawyer. No, there are depths to me you haven’t discovered yet. She grinned at her mother as they shared the long-ago memory with the girls.

Again, Geri felt the closeness she’d once shared with her daughter. Before Stafford, she thought, grateful for the relationship resurfacing between them.

AFTER DINNER, GERI was at the kitchen sink washing pots when the door from the garage into the house opened and closed.

Stafford came into the kitchen and greeted them. The girls had finished loading the dishwasher and were on their way back to their rooms and computers. He leaned down, giving each a quick kiss on the cheek. Come down around seven. There’s a Disney movie on. We can watch it together.

On a school night? Janet asked as she dried a skillet. Think that’s wise?

Oh, come on, Jan. What’s it going to hurt? There was an edge to Stafford’s voice, and a frown creased his brow.

Okay, but if they’re grumpy tomorrow because they stayed up too late, Mom and I will have to cope with it. You can always hide in your office.

Geri stayed busy rinsing the sink and checking on his dinner. She kept silent whenever the couple argued. Heaven knew she and Wynn had their share of arguments over the years.

Okay, but make sure they’re in bed by nine, Janet said. She turned toward the microwave. Mom kept your dinner warm. She brought the filled plate out with pot holders from the microwave to the island where Stafford stood. Do you want it here or in the dining room?

Oh, I’ve already had dinner, he said.

A flash of irritation crossed Geri’s mind. Could’ve said something when you first came home, she thought. Janet was probably thinking the same thing as she scraped the plate into the disposal and put it in the dishwasher. Her face was flushed when she turned to look at Stafford.

I have an announcement. He motioned to Janet and Geri. It’s important.

Ordinarily, Stafford had a pompous manner, but now there was an underlying excitement in his voice. Also, he adjusted his tie several times before clearing his throat.

"My book, The Short War, has found a publisher." He waited as the women digested the news.

Janet was the first to respond. Congratulations. She gave him a hug and kissed his lips.

When Geri went to him with arms outstretched, he stuck out his hand. She shook it and asked, Who’s the publisher?

The name was obscure, but Stafford assured them it was a highly respected small press out of Boston. It may take a year or more before it’s on the market, Stafford said, and the advance is small. His lips spread in a wide smile that showed his large square teeth. But the book is going to be born.

Geri mentally rolled her eyes. Didn’t take long for