Книга - Cowboy Conspiracy

Cowboy Conspiracy
Joanna Wayne









“You’re afraid of me, Wyatt Ledger …

“Afraid you might fall hard for me and that I might interfere with your burning desire to settle a score for your mother no matter who it hurts.”

“You’re reading this all wrong, Kelly. I’m just following the lawman’s code. A cop never gets personally involved with a woman he’s protecting. It makes him lose his edge. Fear has nothing to do with this.”

“Prove it.”

She stepped right in front of him, so close he could feel her breath on his bare chest. “Kiss me right now and prove you’re not afraid.” She took his hand and pressed it to her breast.

He lost it then and he kissed her hard, ravaging her lips, exploding in a rush of desire he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to.




About the Author


JOANNA WAYNE was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.




Cowboy

Conspiracy

Joanna Wayne





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Prologue


It was a country club neighborhood. Sprawling brick houses. Manicured lawns. A guard at the gate. The kind of community where people should be resting safely in their beds at 2:00 a.m. on a Sunday.

But in the Whiting home, one resident would never wake up to the smell of morning coffee—the latest Atlanta homicide to drop onto Wyatt Ledger’s overflowing plate.

Home murders were the worst, he lamented as he pulled up and stopped behind the two squad cars already parked in the driveway of a columned, two-story brick structure. A lone, bare tree stretched its creaking limbs toward the covered entry. Welcome to paradise gone brutal.

Not that murder was any more horrid or final here than in the backstreets and alleyways where so many of the city’s gang and drug-related killings went down. But a home was a person’s refuge, the haven from the outside world. Blood seemed so repulsively out of place splattered over pristine surfaces where violence had never struck before.

And home murders hit way too close to the nightmarish memories Wyatt could never lay to rest.

He turned at the squeal of brakes as a blue sedan joined the scene. A second later his partner rushed up the walk behind him, catching up just as he reached the door.

“Be nice if murders occurred during waking hours,” Alyssa said as she twisted her skirt until it hung straight over her narrow hips. Even slightly disheveled, she looked good. In any other setting, no one would guess she was as tough and smart as any homicide detective in the city.

“Didn’t you have a hot date tonight?” Wyatt asked, but his focus had already moved from Alyssa to the house’s surroundings. Lots of trees and shrubs to offer cover for a perp. An alarm-system warning was planted in the front garden. He’d have to check and see if it had gone off.

“Kyle and I went out with friends and didn’t get home until after midnight,” Alyssa said. “I was sorely tempted to ignore the phone.”

“You’d be yelling if you weren’t invited to the party.”

“Wrong. I hate crime scenes. I love arresting murdering bastards, so I forego sleep.”

“I figure we may lose a lot of sleep over this one.”

“Why?” Alyssa asked. “What do you know about the crime?”

“Probably the same as you know. Cops were summoned by a 911 call. Found a woman fatally shot. House belongs to Derrick and Kathleen Whiting.”

Wyatt opened the unlocked door and stepped inside a high-ceilinged foyer. A multifaceted crystal chandelier dripped light over a marble floor and an antique cherry credenza. Cold air blasted from the air-conditioning unit, though it was already October and in the high sixties outside.

Low voices drifted down the hallway. Wyatt’s gut tightened as he strode toward the conversation. He’d been in Homicide six years. This part of the routine never got easier.

He saw the blood first, streams of it flowing away from a body partially hidden by two uniformed officers. Wyatt knew both of the policemen—Carter and Bower. They’d worked night shifts for as long as he’d been with the Atlanta P.D.

“It’s ugly,” Carter said, stepping back for Wyatt and Alyssa to move in for a closer look. He added a few expletives to make his point.

The victim was lying facedown on the living room floor, wearing a pair of black pajamas. Her feet were bare. She’d been shot in the back of the head at close range. Two bullet entry points were clearly visible.

The wounds were enough to make most men puke. It worried Wyatt a little that he’d become so desensitized to the gore that he didn’t pitch his dinner onto the sea of off-white carpet.

“The back door had been jimmied open,” Carter said. “The TV is unplugged and pulled out from the wall. Looks as if the victim may have come downstairs and interrupted a burglary in progress.”

“Or someone meant it to look that way,” Wyatt said. “Did you check the rest of the house for other victims?”

“Yep. All clear. No one else is home. There are men’s clothes in the closet in the master bedroom, but only one side of the bed appears to have been slept in. There’s another bedroom. Looks as if it belongs to a teenage boy. Slew of baseball trophies on some cluttered shelves and a poster of the Atlanta Falcon cheerleaders on the wall. Dirty clothes piled on the floor. Bed hasn’t been slept in.”

A boy who’d come home soon to find his mother had been brutally murdered.

A surge of unwanted memories bombarded Wyatt. Events replayed in his mind in slow motion. Staring at his mother’s brutally slain body, the pain inside him so intense he’d had to fight to breathe. The panic. The fear. The smell of burning peas. To this day he couldn’t stomach the sight or smell of peas.

“Who called the police?” Alyssa asked.

“A neighbor. He said he heard what sounded like gunshots from the Whiting home, but that the alarm system hadn’t gone off. When we got here we found the back door wide open, so we came in that way and then unlocked the front door for you guys.”

“Have you talked to the neighbor?” Wyatt asked.

“We figured Homicide would want to be the first to do that,” Bower said.

The front door banged shut. Either the wind had caught it or someone had joined them. Wyatt’s hand instinctively flew to the butt of his weapon.

“Mother.”

The voice coming from the foyer was youthful, male and shaky with panic.

Wyatt and Alyssa rushed to the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked. “Where’s my mother?”

The boy looked to be twelve or thirteen, the same age Wyatt had been when his world had exploded. A man in a blue flannel robe stood beside him, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Has something happened?”

Alyssa flashed her badge. “Alyssa Lancaster, Atlanta P.D. Are you Derrick Whiting?”

“No. My name’s Culver. Andy Culver. I live across the street and a few doors down. Josh, here, was spending the night with my son Eric. He woke up and saw the squad cars in front of his house. Was there an accident?”

“There’s a problem,” Alyssa admitted. “Josh, do you know where your dad is?”

“He’s out of town on business.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Wyatt asked.

“No.”

“Any other relatives who live nearby? Grandparents or maybe an aunt?”

“My grandparents live in Peachtree City. Why? What happened to my mother?” His voice had turned husky, as if he were fighting back tears.

“Why don’t we step out on the porch while I explain the situation,” Alyssa said.

Explain? As if they were talking about the boy’s math homework instead of the end of life as he’d known it. Thankfully, Alyssa was better at talking to the family of a victim than Wyatt was, especially when they were kids.

Wyatt could handle the cold, hard facts of the crime, but he needed the sharp edges of personal boundaries to keep distracting emotions in check.

“Where’s my mother?” Josh’s voice had become almost a wail.

“I’m sorry, Josh.” Alyssa stepped toward him.

Josh broke loose from the cluster and made a run for the living area where his mother’s lifeless body lay drenched in blood. Wyatt grabbed for him as he scurried past, but Josh went in for the slide as if he were stealing home. By the time Wyatt reached him, the boy was standing over the body, his face a ghostly white.

Josh trembled, but he wasn’t crying yet. That would come later. Now he was in a state of semishock, consumed by the nightmare and ghastly images his mind wouldn’t let him accept.

“Mom’s dead, isn’t she?” His voice broke.

Alyssa slipped an arm around his shoulders as Wyatt took a position that hid the worst of the scene from the boy’s line of vision. But nothing either of them could say or do could protect Josh from the horror or the agony that would follow. No one knew that better than Wyatt.

The best Wyatt could do was to apprehend the killer and see that justice was served for Josh’s mother. That was a hell of a lot more than anyone had done for Helene Ledger.




Chapter One


Three months later

“The chief wants to see you in his office.”

Wyatt looked up at the young clerk who had just stuck her head inside his cubicle. “Did he say why?”

“No, just that he wants to see you.”

Wyatt shoved the letter he’d been sweating over into a folder and pushed his squeaky swivel chair back from a desk piled high with case files. He picked up the folder for the Whiting case. He hadn’t even finished his written report yet, but he was sure last night’s developments would be the topic of the chief’s discussion.

He wouldn’t be thrilled that Derrick Whiting would not be standing trial for the murder of his wife. But neither would he be walking the streets a free man, with insurance money in the bank and the sexy mistress in his bed.

Whiting had shot himself last night when Wyatt and Alyssa had shown up at his door, arrest warrant in hand. Fortunately, Josh was not there to witness the event. He’d moved in with his grandparents over a month ago.

Alyssa caught up with Wyatt just before he reached the chief’s door. “So you were summoned, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Think Dixon’s pissed that we couldn’t stop the sick bastard from killing himself?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’d have preferred to have the guy stand trial, but it is what it is.”

The door was open. Martin Dixon waved them both inside. He stood and moved away from his desk to welcome them. He wasn’t exactly smiling. He never did. But his eyes and stance said it all. He was glad this was over.

“Hell of a job! Both of you. I wish we could have brought Whiting in to stand trial, but I can see why he took care of his own death sentence. And if he hadn’t, the evidence you’ve collected would have guaranteed a conviction. No juror in his right mind would have let him off.”

“It’s the jurors not in their right minds I always worry about,” Alyssa said. “But thanks for the kudos.”

“The mayor called this morning,” the chief continued. “Said to tell both of you how grateful he is for the way you handled the investigation. He wanted to congratulate you himself, but he’s getting ready for a joint press conference he’s giving with me in about an hour.”

Wyatt grimaced. “You’re not going to thank us by making us spoon-feed the details to the media sharks, are you?”

“No. The mayor and I will make statements. Louis will handle the questions about the case, but I need both of you to brief him.”

“That, I can handle,” Wyatt said.

Louis was in charge of APD public relations and he had a way of feeding the media just enough to keep them happy without releasing any gratuitous details.

“Anyway, good work,” the chief said again.

“Thanks,” Wyatt said. “Just doing my job, and I’m certain the guy who ate the bullet was guilty as sin.”

Wyatt and Alyssa had eaten and slept that case for three months. The murder had been carefully planned, and almost perfectly executed to make it look like a startled burglar had committed the crime. But Derrick had made a couple of fatal errors. Most murderers did.

Thankfully, Derrick Whiting was Josh’s stepfather of just over two years and not his biological father. Josh admitted they’d never been close, though Derrick had painted a picture of perfect family harmony to his coworkers.

At least now Josh wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that his real father had killed his mother in cold blood. He wouldn’t be forced to endure the cruel taunts of schoolmates for being a murderer’s kid or have to wonder if the evil that possessed his father was buried deep in his own DNA.

“You’re both up for a promotion,” the chief said. “I’ve decided to skip a few bureaucracy hurdles and move that along.”

“Now you’re talking,” Alyssa said.

The announcement caught Wyatt totally off guard. Great for Alyssa, but so much for the letter of resignation he’d been laboring over for the past hour.

“Is this a problem for you, Wyatt?” Dixon said, obviously picking up on Wyatt’s discomfort.

“Not exactly a problem, but …” Might as well blurt this out. The decision was made. “I appreciate the promotion offer, but I’m turning in my resignation.”

The chief looked stunned. Wyatt refrained from making eye contact with Alyssa. He’d planned to tell her first. That was partner protocol, but news of the promotion took this out of his hands.

“When did you decide this?” Dixon asked.

“A couple of weeks ago, but I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while. I planned to see the Derrick Whiting case through before I talked to anyone about it.”

“You should have come to me sooner. Whatever the problem is, I’m sure we can work it out.”

“My leaving has nothing to do with department or the work,” Wyatt added quickly. “Hell, this place is home. But I need a change. I’ve been with the APD ever since I dropped out of college and signed on as a rookie cop.”

“What kind of change? If it’s a move out of Homicide, we can—”

“I’m moving back to Texas,” Wyatt said, hopefully ending the discussion.

Dixon looked skeptical. “To go into ranching with your family?”

“I doubt I’ll live on the ranch,” Wyatt explained, “but I’ve got unsettled business in Mustang Run and it’s time I take care of it.”

“Does this have to do with your mother’s murder?”

“That’s a big part of it,” Wyatt admitted.

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“I’m sure,” Wyatt assured him. He’d thought of not much else for most of his life. It was the reason he’d become a cop. He’d put it off as long as he could.

The chief shook his head, his expression making it clear he thought the move was a big mistake. “You said once that your brothers are all convinced of your father’s innocence. I doubt they’ll appreciate you stirring up trouble. And he’s served seventeen years of a sentence.That’s more than a lot of convicted perps serve when there isn’t the slightest doubt that they’re guilty.”

“I’m not going after my father. I’m going after the man who killed my mother. If my father is innocent, I’ll prove that beyond a doubt. If he’s guilty, then I’ll just have to deal with that. My brothers are grown men. They’ll have to do the same.”

“I hate to say it, but I can see where you’re coming from, Wyatt. And I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll find the answers you’re looking for.”

“I hope that confidence is justified.”

“Keep me posted. And as long as I’m heading up the force, there’s always a place for you if you decide to come back.”

“I appreciate that.”

“When do you plan to leave?”

“My caseload is as caught up as it will ever be, so I’d like to clear out as soon as you replace me.”

Dixon nodded. “The department will miss you.”

“I’ll miss being here.”

Talk went back to the Whiting case, but the celebratory tone of the meeting had shifted. Wyatt, usually the first to make a wisecrack to alleviate the tension, could think of nothing to say. He loved his job, but he had to do this.

And he could use a change of scenery. His apartment walls were starting to close in around him. He needed a taste of wide-open spaces, hilly pastures and the quiet fishing spots Dylan, Sean and now Dakota were always talking about.

That didn’t make going back to Mustang Run and Willow Creek Ranch any easier.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Alyssa poked him in the ribs. “When exactly did you plan to hit me in the head with this?”

“At the last possible moment, so I wouldn’t have to listen to you whine and lecture,” he teased. “And don’t poke me with those bony fingers.”

She poked him again. “You’ll go crazy in the Podunk town of Horse Run.”

“Mustang Run. And I don’t plan to be there forever.”

“No, just long enough to cause trouble,” Alyssa quipped.

“And I’m talented at stirring the pot, so that shouldn’t take too long.”

“Your dad’s already spent seventeen years in prison before being released on a technicality. He’s reunited with four of his five sons, even Tyler who’s still on active duty in Afghanistan. He’s a beloved grandfather. Have you ever considered just leaving well enough alone?”

“I’m not planning to go down there and string him up from the nearest tree. Troy claims he’s looking for Mother’s killer. I aim to help him.”

“Oh, right, the good son. You can’t even call him Dad.”

Wyatt stopped walking and made eye contact. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t feel the same if your mother had been murdered?”

“Okay, point made. But I’ll miss you, partner. Worse, I’m selfish. Now I have to adjust to someone new. I’ll probably get one who sweats profusely or passes gas in the car, or heaven forbid, treats me like a woman.”

“He won’t make that mistake but once.”

She smiled as if that were the ultimate compliment. “Do me a favor while you’re out there with those rattlesnakes and cow patties, Wyatt.”

“Send you a snakeskin?”

“Don’t even think about it. But if on the off chance you find a woman who can put up with you, don’t push her away like she’s been living with a family of skunks, the way you did everyone I tried to fix you up with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know what’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like skunks.”

“You’re afraid of falling. As soon you think you might like some woman, you make up excuses for why it won’t work. She’s too smart. She’s not smart enough. She has cats. She has kids. She doesn’t like cats or kids.”

“You should get better friends to fix me up with.”

“You may as well admit it. You’re afraid of relationships.”

“Shows how smart I am. Do you know the divorce rate among cops?”

“One day you’ll meet a woman who’ll knock you for such a loop you won’t be able to walk away. I hear Texas is full of women like that.”

“Could be.” But a woman was the last thing he needed now. Texas and reuniting with Troy Ledger would be challenge enough. And now that the decision was made, he needed to move on. With luck, he’d be on the road by the middle of January.

He traveled light. That was just one of the advantages of never putting down any deep roots or acquiring things like mortgages or a wife.

He had no intention of changing that.

“IT’S THE FUEL PUMP, Mrs. Burger. It’s going to have to be replaced.”

Kelly groaned. She had another four hours to drive and it was already after three. Plus, the weather forecast for tonight was a line of severe thunderstorms preceding a cold front moving in from the northwest.

The mechanic yanked a red rag from his back pocket and rubbed at a spot of grease on his arm that defied his removal efforts. “I can get to it first thing in the morning. And I’ll be glad to give you a ride now to the nearest motel.”

“I really need to get back on the road today. I’ll pay extra if you can fix it this afternoon.”

“I’m not sure how quickly I can get the part. I might be able to just run over to Mac’s Garage and pick it up or I might have to have one shipped in.”

Just her luck to have her car break down in a small town. “Can’t you have someone drive to the nearest town with a Honda dealer and pick one up? I’ll pay his overtime and buy his gas.”

Jaci tugged on Kelly’s skirt. “Can we go now, Momma?”

“Not yet, Jaci.” She struggled to keep the frustration from her voice. She couldn’t expect a five-year-old to understand why they were just standing around waiting instead of off on the adventure she’d been promised. Jaci had been such a trooper over the last twelve months when their lives had been in serious upheaval.

“Let me see what I can do,” the young mechanic said.

He returned to the small waiting area ten minutes later, this time smiling.

“I found a fuel pump that I can have here in under an hour. If we don’t run into problems, you can be on your way just after dark.”

“Super.” They’d arrive in Mustang Run too late to accomplish anything tonight, but at least she’d be at the new house when the moving van arrived in the morning. Not actually a new house—just new to her. Actually it was older than her grandmother who’d willed it to her. But it would offer Kelly a new start after her year from hell.

Not that she had a clue what shape the house would be in. It had stood empty for over a year now and the man who’d been managing the property was visiting his son in California.

All he’d told her over the phone was that the house would need an ample application of soap and elbow grease and paint. She’d decided to move in and fix it up one room at a time as she found the time and the money.

She had some savings but not enough for major repairs. Her husband’s medical bills had taken most of it before he died three years ago. And last year, she hadn’t earned a dime.

“I’m hungry, Momma,” Jaci said, though Kelly suspected she was more bored than anything else.

“There’s a McDonalds’s out on the highway,” the mechanic offered. “I can give you a lift over there if you’d like and pick you up when your car’s ready. It’s got a nice play area.”

Jaci jumped around excitedly. “McDonald’s. Please, Momma. Please.”

Hours at a McDonald’s surrounded by squealing kids and the odor of fries—or sitting here rereading for the twentieth time the two storybooks Jaci had brought with her in the car.

That was a no-brainer.

“That would be terrific,” Kelly agreed. Jaci could play off some of her energy, have the chicken nuggets she loved and then she’d likely sleep all the way to the Hill Country. They’d be back on track and hopefully to Mustang Run before the predicted thunderstorms set in.

Surely nothing else could go wrong today.




Chapter Two


Large drops of rain splattered the windshield as Wyatt pulled off the highway and next to one of the gas pumps at a 24-hour truck stop. Eighteen-wheelers lined the truck parking area off to the right, the drivers no doubt sleeping soundly in their fancy cabs.

He was the only gas customer and the parking lot in front of the café was empty except for a motorbike that looked as if it had seen its best days years ago, and a snazzy new Corvette.

Wyatt climbed from his brand-new double-cab pickup truck, his going-away present to himself for trading a job he loved for a reunion with his father.

All he owned was either tossed into the backseat or stored in the truck’s bed beneath the aluminum cover. That included the fancy rod and reel the other homicide cops had presented him with as their going-away memento.

Stretching to relieve the kinks from his muscles, Wyatt massaged the stiff tendons in his neck. The beers he’d enjoyed with his buddies last night had left him with just enough headache pain to dull the fun of hitting the road.

The splatters became a pelting downpour as he filled his gas tank. A gust of icy wind almost blew his black Stetson off his head. He tugged the hat lower with his free hand.

Just as he was returning the fuel handle to its cradle, a late model Honda Accord pulled up across from him and a woman stepped out.

The wind was blowing so hard now that the sheltering canopy above them did little to keep them dry. She pulled a denim jacket tight and glanced around nervously.

He tipped his hat. “Rough night for traveling.”

“Yes. I was hoping the rain would hold off for another hour,” she said, cautiously avoiding eye contact as she unscrewed her gas tank.

There was no one in the passenger seat, but he spotted a little girl in the backseat. Her face was pressed against the window as she peered at him. She opened the door for a better look.

“Don’t get out of the car, Jaci. It’s cold and you’ll get wet.” When the girl closed her door, the woman quickly locked it with the remote on her key.

“You’re getting wet, too,” Wyatt said. “Why don’t you let me finish gassing up for you and you and the kid make a run for the café before it gets any worse?”

“We’re not going in. And thanks for the offer, but I really don’t need any help.” Her tone and stare clearly told him to back off.

Smart woman. He was harmless, but plenty of men weren’t. And a woman and a kid traveling alone would make an easy target for some of the perverts he’d dealt with.

If he was still carrying his APD identification, he could probably reassure her, but he was no longer a cop, at least not officially.

“I’d give the rain a few minutes to slack off before I hit the road again. Just a suggestion,” he said, tipping his hat again.

He headed inside for a cup of coffee as the wind and rain picked up in intensity. He was less than thirty miles from Mustang Run but in no hurry to get there. He’d decided about forty miles back that he’d check in to one of the town’s two motels for the night and then drive out to the ranch in the morning.

He needed a good night’s sleep before he faced Troy.

Troy Ledger, convicted of murder, but still claiming his innocence. Wyatt hoped to God he was, but he’d read and reread the trial notes so many times he knew every last detail. If he’d been on that jury, he’d have come to the same conclusion they had. Guilty of murder in the first degree.

That was the Troy he’d be facing. But it was the other Troy he had been thinking about ever since he’d crossed the Texas line.

The father who’d chased monsters from his bedroom, taught him to ride a horse and a bike. Given him his first pony. The father who’d stayed with him all night when that pony had been so sick they thought they might have to put her down.

Wyatt stamped the water from his worn Western boots and made a stop at the men’s room before entering the café proper.

“C’mon in,” the waitress welcomed when he finally stepped into the main area of the café. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, blonde, with heavy, smudged eye makeup.

“You made it just in time,” she said. “Sounds like a whopper of a storm kicking up out there.”

“Is this your usual January weather?” he asked.

“No, but nothing about the weather’s predictable in this part of Texas. One day you’ll be in shorts, the next day you’ll be wearing sweats. Where are you from?”

“Texas originally, but I’ve lived in Georgia for most of my life.”

“Welcome back to the Lone Star State.”

“Thanks.” He shed his jacket and dropped it to one of the counter stools.

She handed him a plastic-coated menu. “You looking for dinner or just coffee and a warm, dry spot to wait out the storm?”

“Both.” He checked out her name tag. “I’ll start with a cup of black coffee, Edie.”

“The cook’s already gone for the night,” she said as she poured the coffee and set it in front of him. “I can fix you a burger or a sandwich and fries. I can do most of the breakfast items, too. There was chicken tortilla soup, but a couple of truckers finished that off about thirty minutes ago.”

“Whatever you’re cooking now smells good.”

“I’m making the guy in the back corner a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich. I recommend it.”

“Then I’ll have that.”

“You got it.”

Wyatt glanced at the only other customer. He was bent over a road map that he’d spread across the narrow table. His hair was shaggy and looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. His jeans were faded and frayed at the hem. Heavily tattooed muscles bunched beneath a wife-beater T-shirt, and there was a wicked scar at his collarbone.

He might be a perfect gentleman with a spotless record, but he was the kind of guy who always courted a cop’s attention.

But Wyatt was no longer a cop. He turned his attention back to the front of the café. The rain slashed against the huge front windows now, and he thought of the woman in the Honda again. If she was trying to drive in this deluge, she was in for trouble. Visibility would be reduced to a few feet.

The bell above the front door tinkled. Wyatt looked up as the woman who’d said she wasn’t coming in herded the kid inside and toward the restrooms on the right. Hopefully that meant she’d decided to sit out the storm here.

A loud clap of thunder rattled the doors and the lights blinked off and on.

Edie leaned over the counter in front of him. “I’m sure glad you stopped in. I get spooked if I’m alone or with only one customer when the power goes off. Normally if I yell, any number of truckers would come to my rescue, but they’d never hear me in this storm.”

“Is the guy sitting in the back a regular?” Wyatt asked.

“Never seen him before.” She leaned in closer. “Hope to never see him again. The way he looks at me gives me the willies. That’s another reason I was glad to see you walk in. You look like a guy who can handle trouble.”

“Only when trouble throws the first punch.”

She smiled and stuck a paper napkin at his elbow. “Storms lure in lots of strangers, especially when the rain is falling so hard you can’t see to drive.”

Wyatt kept his gaze on the front of the café until the woman and kid came out of the restroom area. The woman looked around and met his gaze for one quick second before leading her daughter to a table at the front of the café.

The waitress sashayed over to them, starting up a new conversation about the storm.

“Just black coffee for me and a glass of milk for my daughter,” he heard the woman say once they got around to the order.

“Sure thing. Are you traveling much farther tonight?”

“Just to Mustang Run. I thought I had enough gas to get there, but then the gauge dropped so low I was afraid to chance it.”

“Good that you stopped and came in,” Edie said. “One of my regulars ran his truck off the road last time we had a gully washer like this.”

“We’re moving to my great-grandmother’s old house,” the kid said excitedly. “It has a big yard.”

“Lucky you. Is your daddy going to work in Mustang Run?”

“My daddy got sick and he’s in heaven,” the little girl said. “But I have a gramma Linda Ann in Plano. She’s a schoolteacher. At a college.”

So the woman was a widow, Wyatt considered. And she and her daughter were moving to the same small town as he was, on the same night.

Alyssa would claim it was serendipity and that he should go right over and introduce himself. But then Alyssa also believed that throwing pennies in the fountain in the courtyard of her favorite restaurant would help her meet the perfect man. If not, Facebook would.

“You’re going to love Mustang Run,” Edie said to the little girl. “I live about thirty minutes in the opposite direction, but I go into Mustang Run every year for the Bluebonnet Festival Dance. The locals are really friendly.” She turned to the woman. “And the cowboys are sooo cute.”

“I’m not looking for a cowboy.”

Wyatt hooked the heels of his Western boots on the stool’s rung. That ruled him out. Not that he worked with cows, but he was a cowboy in his soul.

“Where are you moving from?” Edie asked.

“East of here.”

You couldn’t get much more evasive that than, Wyatt thought. His cop instincts checked in and he wondered if she might be on the run—from the police or perhaps an unwanted lover.

“We’re getting a cat,” the little girl said.

“That will be nice,” Edie said. “I had a cat when I was young. I named it Princess.”

“I’m naming mine Belle. That’s a princess name.”

“It is. I like that.”

“My name is Jaci.”

“I like that, too. Now I better get back to my grill before I burn the ham.”

The thunder was now a constant growl in the background and the pounding on the metal roof sounded like hailstones. The lights blinked again as Edie pulled sliced tomatoes, lettuce leaves and jalapeños from a small built-in refrigerator beneath the counter.

Wyatt shifted on the stool so that he had a better view of the woman at the front table without staring obviously. His mind automatically sized her up the way he would a suspect. The hair was strawberry blond, clean and shiny. It was cut short and in wavy layers that flipped about her chin. She had a cute nose that turned up ever so slightly on the end.

Nice breasts. Slender hips—he’d noticed those when she was pumping gas. Full lips. Great smile—when she smiled.

Okay, so maybe he was noticing her more like a woman than a suspect. She did intrigue him, maybe because she was showing absolutely no interest in him.

She looked up, saw him watching her and shot him that same back-off stare she had aimed at him outside.

Once Edie put his sandwich in front of him, his concentration turned to the food. When he did look up, he caught the guy at the other end of the bar eyeing Jaci’s mother. Wyatt couldn’t fault him for noticing an attractive woman. He’d done the same.

But the way this guy was looking at her bothered Wyatt. He could see why the waitress felt uncomfortable around him.

Wyatt felt that copper’s itch to find some reason to ask for the man’s ID. He’d like to check him out and see if he had a record or an outstanding warrant for his arrest.

A few minutes later, the guy paid his tab, stood and swaggered toward the door. He stopped near the woman at the table and rested his right hand on his groin area, leering until the woman looked up. She glanced away quickly.

Wyatt’s muscles clenched. Badge or not, he wasn’t going to let the slimy weasel intimidate a woman while he was here to stop it.

But then the guy turned and strode out of the café and into the full fury of the storm.

By the time Wyatt had finished his sandwich and a second cup of coffee, the steady pelting against the roof had finally slacked off. The woman and kid were already pulling on their jackets. They left as Wyatt paid his tab.

He’d just shrugged into his own jacket when he heard the piercing wail. Adrenaline rushed his veins. He shoved his way out the door, his instincts already kicking in and ready for whatever he might find.

Anything except this.




Chapter Three


The woman from the diner had shoved a motorbike to the pavement and was kicking the frame like she was attacking a hungry grizzly. Had it been a grizzly, the bear would likely be losing the battle.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

Her hands flew to her hips. “That hooligan stole my car.”

Wyatt looked around. True enough, there was no sign of the Honda she’d been driving earlier.

“Don’t just stand there,” she demanded. “Do something.”

“Looks like you have the bike subdued,” he quipped.

“Not help with the bike. My purse is in that car. All my money’s in it. He has my computer. A box of Jaci’s favorite toys.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “And half of our clothes!” She slammed the heel of her stylish boot into the bike’s frame again.

The hooligan in question had a good half hour head start. With no idea which direction he’d gone in, chances were slim Wyatt could chase him down in his pickup truck.

“What in holy tarnation are you doing to my bike?” This time it was the waitress’s shrill voice that cut through the damp air.

The woman threw up her hands. “Your bike? I thought it belonged to the man who stole my car.”

“That creep who was in the café stole your car?”

“Apparently.”

“I knew he was up to no good the second he walked in. I figured he was just hanging around waiting for the power to go off so he could clean out the register.”

Wyatt made the 911 call while the women righted the downed bike and the attacker apologized profusely for the damage her boot had inflicted.

The kid ran over to Wyatt. “Call the police and the game warden,” she squealed. “That man stole my toys and my books.”

Three near-hysterical females was downright scary. The light rain that was still falling did nothing to settle them down. At least the kid had sense enough to move to the cover of the aluminum canopy over the door after she put in her order for cops.

“Ladies,” Wyatt announced when he’d finished the call. “A deputy is on the way. Let’s go back inside and calm down.”

“Easy for you to say,” the woman snapped. “You have your truck.”

No doubt because the thief didn’t realize Wyatt had a couple of loaded pistols inside. Wyatt stopped at the Corvette parked in the lot as the three women marched inside.

If the guy hadn’t been riding the motorbike, he must have been driving this. Ten to one it was stolen, as well. But there was nothing he could do about it until a deputy showed up.

Back in Atlanta, he’d have made a few calls and had local cops and the state police already on the lookout for the stolen Honda. He’d have run a license-plate check on the Corvette. He’d have assumed control instead of waiting for a deputy.

Already he missed his life.

KELLY TOOK A DEEP BREATH and struggled to think rationally. Instead, she plunged into the frightening abyss of “what ifs” What if the creep had been the one pumping gas when she was? What if he’d knocked her to the pavement and stolen the car with Jaci inside it? What if she’d walked out while he was hot-wiring the ignition and he’d shot Jaci or her or both of them?

When she looked at it that way, the loss of her car and her belongings didn’t seem nearly so horrific. But still, she was fed up with being criminals’ prey. It was as if she wore a sign on her back that said victim.

“I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee,” Edie offered. “You never know how long we’ll have to wait for a deputy in this weather.”

Kelly and Jaci slid into one side of the narrow booth. Not unexpectedly, the cowboy slid in opposite them. Fortunately, he seemed to be taking command of the situation. Good that someone was, since she’d flown into a rage out there instead of thinking logically.

He was quite a hunk. Not that she hadn’t noticed that earlier, but now she actually let her gaze linger on the rugged planes and angles of his face. He couldn’t be many years older than she was, if any, but he had an edge about him and an aura of self-confidence.

She liked his hair—short but rumpled and dry—where hers was wet and dripping, thanks to the Western hat he’d just tossed to the booth behind them. His dark brown locks were streaked with coppery highlights, the artistic work of the sun.

But his eyes were the real draw. Mesmerizing. Piercing, but not threatening. The color of the coffee she could smell dripping through the pot.

“I think we should introduce ourselves,” he said. “I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

“Good to meet you, Wyatt, though I would have preferred to meet under better circumstances. I’m Kelly Burger.”

It was a relief to finally use her real name again. Maybe one day she’d even be able to get past the fears she’d lived with for nearly twelve months. She extended her hand and when his wrapped around hers, the tingle of awareness danced through her. She pulled her hand away too quickly. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

She looked down at her daughter, thankful to break away from Wyatt’s penetrating gaze. “This is Jaci.”

The cowboy’s lips split into a wide grin. “Hi, Jaci.”

Attacked by one of her rare cases of shyness, Jaci twirled a finger in her hair and looked down at the table. It was well past her bedtime, and even though she’d slept some in the car, she was running out of steam.

Jaci pulled her short legs into the seat with her and finally looked at Wyatt. “Can you take us to our new house?”

“It’s okay, Jaci,” Kelly assured her. “The police will see that we get home tonight.”

“Actually, I heard Jaci say earlier that you’re going to Mustang Run,” Wyatt said. “That’s also where I’m heading, so I can give you a lift if you’d like.”

The coincidence set off a warning bell in her head. For all she knew Wyatt could be as bad as the rotten thug who’d stolen her car. Boots and a cowboy hat didn’t mean he was the real thing. “Do you own a ranch near Mustang Run?”

“My family does. I was a homicide detective with the Atlanta Police Department until yesterday. Now I guess I’m a freeloader.”

“You’re a cop?”

“Was a cop. Guess it doesn’t say much for my detective intuition that I let the guy just walk out of here and steal your car. The fact that he left in the middle of a pouring rain should have tipped me off he might be up to no good, especially since I figured the motorbike was his, too.”

“Why did you leave the force?”

“Personal reasons.”

That she understood, the same way there were a lot of questions about her life she wouldn’t want to go into with a stranger. Or with family for that matter. She hadn’t even fully explained the year’s disappearing act to her mother. There had been no reason to worry her. Kelly had been frightened enough for both of them.

“If you’re a detective, you must know the routine. What happens when the deputy shows up?”

“He’ll ask questions about the car. You’ll answer the ones you can and then he’ll fill out a police report.”

“I know the license-plate number. Everything else, I’ll have to get from my insurance agent. That may have to wait until morning. Hopefully, I’ll have the car back before then.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Why not?” Her frustration spiked again. “They will look for it, won’t they? That’s their job.”

“That’s one of their jobs. I don’t know how they prioritize around here, but car thefts are not top priority in the big city unless they involve force, weapons or kidnapping.”

Panic swelled again. “I need that car. It has my purse with my wallet in it.”

“How did you pay your tab in the restaurant?”

“With the credit card I used for buying gas. After swiping it, I’d stuck it in the front pocket of my jeans.”

“Did you leave your purse in the front seat? If so, that might have been the lure that made him choose your Honda over my new truck.”

“I wasn’t that stupid. I put it in the trunk, but there were personal items in the backseat and the sleeping bags Jaci and I were going to sleep on tonight.”

“Where exactly were you planning to spread sleeping bags in a storm?”

“On the floor in my house. The moving van with my furniture won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“If you have other credit cards, I’d suggest you cancel them at once.”

“I don’t.” She wouldn’t have this one had the FBI not obtained it for her. Her credit slate had been wiped clean a year ago and all accounts closed.

“Is there a key to your house in your purse or somewhere else in your car?”

“No, fortunately, I put the house keys on the ring with my car keys earlier today.”

“What about your phone?” Wyatt asked.

“It’s in the car. No … Wait. It’s in my pocket. I forgot it was there. I could have called 911 myself. But my computer is in the trunk.”

“What else is in the car?”

“There’s a folder with information from the phone company, the electric power company, the natural gas company. The house I’m moving into has been empty for a year. I had to have all the utilities reconnected.”

She blinked repeatedly, determined to hold back a surge of tears that was gathering behind her lids. This was no time to cry. She worked to revive the fury that would keep her from showing weakness.

Jaci’s head drooped and came to rest against Kelly’s shoulder. The darling had fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t see if salty tears started spilling from her mother’s eyes.

“I can spread my jacket on that booth behind us if you want to lay her down,” Wyatt offered.

“Thanks. I would appreciate that.”

She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

Obviously, they knew one another.

“Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

“You saw him drive off in the car?”

“No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

“And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

“I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

“If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

“No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

“You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.

Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

“I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

“I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

“Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

“How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.

The bell over the door tinkled again and this time a burly guy accompanied by a petite blonde walked in. Edie greeted them by name. Judging from the comments, they were a truck-driving team who stopped by often. Edie scurried off to take care of them.

“Is that your Corvette out there?” the sheriff asked Wyatt.

“No. I’m driving the black pickup truck. I figure the guy who stole Ms. Burger’s Honda drove up in that. It was the only car parked out front when I came in and he was the only customer.”

“A Honda for a Corvette. Interesting trade. Brent, run the plates on the Corvette. My guess is it’s hot.”

Good assumption. Wyatt sipped his coffee while the sheriff gathered the basic information from Kelly. His interest piqued when they got to the address where Kelly would be living.

“That’s the old Callister place, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “Yellow cottage-style house, down from the old Baptist church.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“My daughter Collette rented the place for a while back when she was single. I was glad to see her move out.”

“Why?” Kelly asked.

“I probably shouldn’t even mention this,” McGuire said, “but I’m sure you’ll hear from someone else if not from me. My daughter’s friend was brutally attacked in that house. She’s fine now, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Turned out the guy was actually after my daughter. But don’t worry. He’s behind bars now.”

“I hope your daughter is okay,” Kelly said.

“She’s fine now. Married and with a bun in the oven.”

Wyatt was familiar with that part of the story. The sheriff’s daughter was married to Wyatt’s brother Dylan. This was becoming all too familial. All they needed was some fried chicken and banana pudding and it would be a family reunion.

How did people ever have any privacy in a town like Mustang Run?

“That house has been empty for over a year,” McGuire continued. “Place needs a paint job and lots of work. Last time I drove by to check things out, I noticed an oak tree in front that needs to be cut down.”

“I loved that tree. I remember climbing it when I was about Jaci’s age and having tea parties with Grams under those huge spreading branches.”

“Well, it’s dead now. Lightning bolt last spring nailed it and it looks like the first good wind will lay it on the roof.”

“I wasn’t made aware of any of that.”

“House was in perfect shape when Cordelia Callister was living. She’d probably roll over in her grave if she knew it was in such a state of disrepair.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad.”

“It’s bad enough that whoever rented it to you should have explained how much work it needs before they took your money. If you need help breaking the lease, call Judge Betty Smith. Number’s in the book. She’ll tell you what to do.”

“Actually, I own that house,” Kelly admitted. “I had no idea it was neglected. For years, I’ve been paying a man named Arnold Jenkins to manage the property.”

McGuire rubbed his whiskered jaw. “So you own the old Callister home place? Did you buy it sight unseen?”

“I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. Cordelia was my grandmother.”

“Well, hell’s bells. Then you must be Linda Ann’s daughter. Why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t expect anyone around here to remember my mother.”

“All the old-timers around here remember her. She grew up in Mustang Run and that was back when everybody knew everybody.”

It appeared they still did.

McGuire hooked his thumbs in his belt loop and hitched up his pants. “Don’t that beat all, you showing up back here after all these years? Linda Ann left Mustang Run right after she graduated from UT and that’s pretty much the last we’ve seen of her. How’s she doing?”

“Mother’s doing well.”

“I remember Cordelia talking about Linda Ann being a single mother after your father was killed. Car crash, wasn’t it?”

Kelly nodded. “He died before I was born.”

McGuire rubbed his jaw. “Did Linda Ann ever marry again?”

“Yes, six years ago. She married a physics professor that she worked with in Boston. He retired last year and surprisingly, they moved to Plano, Texas.”

“Guess your grandmother figured Linda Ann wasn’t ever going to move back to Mustang Run so she just left her property to you.”

“Exactly. But apparently I should have checked on it personally before now. In my defense, I’ve been occupied with other matters and I trusted that Mr. Jenkins was taking care of repairs.”

“I’m afraid Arnold’s been snookering you for over a year. He’s got the rheumatism so bad now he had to give up his membership in the local spit-and-whittle society. He’s been at his son’s house in California since before Thanksgiving.”

“Spit and whittle?” Kelly questioned, confusion written on her face.

“The unofficial society for retired men,” Wyatt explained. And now that he’d interrupted the dialogue, he might as well come clean and jump into the old-home-week party.

Wyatt stuck out a hand toward the sheriff. “I should introduce myself. I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back on his heels, studying Wyatt. “Yep, I see the family resemblance now. Dylan talks about you all the time, but he didn’t say a word about his infamous Atlanta detective brother coming for a visit.”

“No one in the family knows I’m here,” Wyatt admitted.

“Planning to surprise ‘em, uh? Believe me, they will be. Sure as shootin’, Troy will kill the fatted calf. How long you here for?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’d like to sit down and chew the fat with you while you’re in town, see how the big-city way of doing things compares with our methods. The county is growing so fast, we’re adding a specialized homicide division. I could use your input.”

“I’d be glad to give it.”

“Right now we’d better get to the business at hand.”

Wyatt caught a whiff of Kelly’s perfume as she and the sheriff stepped away. Add that to the sway of her hips and the effect was intoxicating.

A half hour later, it had all been said. As suspected, the Corvette had been stolen in Houston earlier that day, the keys taken from a woman in her own driveway as she was getting in the car.

While the sheriff had questioned Kelly, Brent had taken down a detailed description of the suspect from Wyatt and Edie. Jaci was still sleeping soundly.

McGuire took another call on his cell phone, the third since he’d arrived. Evidently the weather was playing havoc with driving. When the sheriff broke the connection, he gulped down the remains of his second cup of coffee and turned to Wyatt.

“I’ve got a truck that skidded off the road and into a ditch on Buchanan Road that I need to attend to. Seeing as how both you and Mrs. Burger are going to Mustang Run, how about you giving her a lift into town?”

An offer Wyatt had made earlier and had the proposal refused. But that was when he and Kelly were strangers. Now they shared a membership in the elite Mustang Run descendants club.

Now Wyatt was the one with concerns. “I’ll be glad to drive Mrs. Burger into town, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to stay at her house tonight.”

“The house needs work, but it’s not going to cave in on her,” McGuire argued. “It’s been standing for more than a hundred years.”

“The thief looked about as unsavory as they come,” Wyatt said. “Even if he can’t break into her computer files, there’s information in the stolen car about where she lives. And I suspect he has a good hunch she’ll be there alone.”

“More likely, the thief is long gone from the area by now,” McGuire said. “But the decision for where she stays is up to Mrs. Burger.”

Kelly chewed her bottom lip nervously and turned toward Wyatt. “Do you really think Jaci and I might be in danger?”

“Probably not, but why chance it? Spend the night in a motel and give the guy plenty of time to move on. There are two in town.”

“That’s an option,” the sheriff agreed, “but they might not have a vacancy tonight. They’re small motels and there’s a big gun show in town this weekend.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check them out,” Wyatt said.

The sheriff pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and rattled them as if he were eager to leave. “Tell you what, if you do stay at the house, I’ll have one of the deputies do drive-bys every hour or so. If you get anxious or even think you hear someone trying to break in, call 911 and he can get there quicker than a snake can slither through a hollow log.”

Kelly pushed her half bangs away from her face. “I’d appreciate that.”

Wyatt still didn’t like it, but it seemed he wasn’t getting a vote. But as long as he was driving Kelly and Jaci into town, he still had time to talk Kelly into staying in a motel.

He was being overly cautious. But then, dealing with dead victims on a regular basis did that for a man.

McGuire got as far as the door and turned back. “Another option would be to drive Mrs. Burger and her daughter out to Willow Creek Ranch. I’m sure Troy would be glad to put them up for the night,” McGuire said. “There’s plenty of room in that rambling old house.”

Wyatt nodded, but he wasn’t keen on that idea.

“You two work it out and let me know what you decide. The deputy can be in the area if you need him, Mrs. Burger. But now that I think about it, staying out at the Ledger ranch is what I’d recommend.”

“I’ll go make room for a couple of extra passengers in my truck,” Wyatt said, deciding to leave before he said too much. As far as he was concerned, the ranch was a last resort. Reuniting with Troy would be stressful enough without pulling a woman he barely knew into the sticky mix.

Fortunately, the rain had stopped, since making room for two passengers required moving his clothes from the backseat to the covered bed of the truck. When the truck was ready, he made one quick call to Alyssa and then went back for his two charges.

The intriguing and naively seductive Kelly Burger would be the first female passenger in his new truck. This was where Alyssa’s ridiculous raised-by-a-family-of-skunks analogy might actually come in handy.

Too bad that Kelly smelled so damn good.




Chapter Four


Miraculously, Jaci barely stirred when Kelly strapped her into the seat belt. Kelly made a support pillow of her lightweight jacket for her daughter.

“I’ll turn on some heat,” Wyatt said as she settled into the front passenger seat.

“Thanks. Neither Jaci nor I are dressed for this weather. I knew there was a cold front predicted for tonight, but I expected to be in Mustang Run long before now.”

“What made you late?”

“Car trouble.”

“Tough. That’s the kind of luck I’d have wished on the thief.”

They grew silent after that and she leaned back, closed her eyes and contemplated Wyatt and the idea of renting a motel room tonight. She’d counted on staying in the empty house, only now the pillows and sleeping bags she’d packed were speeding down the highway with a low-down thief.

The scenario that Wyatt had brought up was far worse. The thief with the stare that had made her skin crawl could be in Mustang Run, waiting for her and Jaci to arrive.

More than likely, he was miles away by now, just as the sheriff had theorized. But what if the sheriff was wrong? She shivered at the possibility.

“I think I will take your advice and stay at the motel tonight,” she said. “Even if they catch the thief, it sounds as if there’s little chance I’d get my car back right away. And without the sleeping bags, Jaci and I would be sleeping on the cold, hard floor.”

“Good. That will save me having to sleep in my truck outside your house. Overnight stakeouts are the devil on a man’s back.”

“The sheriff offered protection.”

“You know the old adage. A cop on the scene is worth two in a roaming patrol car.”

“I thought it was a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.”

“Now who would want a bird in his hand?”

She smiled in spite of the tense situation. Wyatt Ledger was definitely nice to have around in a crunch.

“I hope there’s somewhere I can rent a car early in the morning,” she said.

“I kind of doubt there’s a car rental location in Mustang Run, but if there’s not, I can always drive you into Austin to pick one up.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. There must be some kind of taxi or car service to the Austin airport. I’m sure the motel will know how to contact them.”

“My fares are a lot cheaper.”

“I’m sure you have better things to do than chauffeur me around.”

“Not particularly. I’m unemployed. I could use the entertainment.”

“According to Sheriff McGuire, you’ll be dining on a fatted calf.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Ah, now I get it. You’re looking for an escape valve in case the pressure of family becomes overbearing.”

“Darn. You figured me out.” He slowed to maneuver around a low spot where water had collected on the road. “Seriously, you’re having a run of bad luck, Kelly. It could happen to anyone, but I’d be a jerk not to offer my help and protection.”

She’d like to believe that was the total truth and that all his intentions were good, but with what she’d been through the past year, it was hard to trust anyone.

Kelly shifted and stretched, fatigue settling into her shoulders and neck. “How long has it been since you’ve visited Mustang Run?”

“Nineteen years last September.”

“You sound like my mother. She left Mustang Run and except for a few quick visits to check on my grandmother when she was ill, Mother never returned to her hometown.”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” Wyatt said.

“If she did, she didn’t talk about them other than to say that the town was too small.”

“Obviously, you didn’t agree with her since you’re moving here.”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. I’m in a regrouping phase of life.” She leaned back and let her head drop to the padded rest. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your father?”

“Eighteen years, give or take a few months.”

“There must be a story there.”

“Yes, but it’s not the kind you tell to impress a woman you’ve just met.”

If he was trying to impress her, he was doing a bang-up job of it. “Okay, let me guess,” she said. “Your family is a notorious gang of bank robbers.”

He faked a shocked expression. “You’ve met them.”

“You’re lying. Let me see … Second guess,” she said, playing along. “Your brothers are secretly vampires in cowboy clothing.”

He produced a lecherous smile. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a lovely neck?”

“All the time,” she said. “My earlobes get a lot of attention, too.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

She closed her eyes as the knots in her stomach began to slowly unravel. She refused to let herself dwell on the idea of Wyatt’s lips on her neck or any other part of her body, but his easy banter was definitely helping to put things in perspective.

Her car had been stolen. That was nothing compared to what she’d been through over the last twelve months. If she didn’t get her car back, she’d collect the insurance and buy another one.

And the pervert who stole it was likely several counties away by now, using her cash to provide his next high.

They passed the Mustang Run city-limits sign, and Kelly turned so that she could check on Jaci, though the rhythmic sounds of her breathing were proof she was still asleep. The doll she carried everywhere was clutched to her chest.

“If I remember right, the house is only a few miles from here,” Kelly said. “Could we stop by there on the way to the motel? After the sheriff’s diatribe on the condition it’s in, I’d just like a little advance warning of what I have to face in the morning.”

“Sure. Where do I turn?”

“Wait. I have the address plugged into my phone’s GPS system.” She looked it up and fed him the directions. In less than five minutes, they turned off on a blacktop road. Two minutes more and they passed the old Baptist church she remembered from the few times she’d visited her grandmother.

“We should be just about there. You’ll have to watch for the drive. The house may be hard to see in the dark.”

Kelly’s hands grew clammy as Wyatt pulled into the driveway. Before her car was stolen, she had been excited about moving into the house. She needed a place with continuity and history and a tie to the grandmother she’d loved but never really gotten to know.

Unlike her mother, Kelly found the idea of a small town appealing, especially at this point in her life. She wanted a quiet, safe town where she could take Jaci to the park and let her play in the yard.

Still, an unreasonable dread tightened her chest as beams of illumination from Wyatt’s headlights disbanded the shadows. And then she spied the latest disaster.

Kelly jumped out of the truck the second it stopped and stamped to the steps for a closer look. A huge branch of the oak tree McGuire had mentioned had crashed through the roof of the house.

Chimney bricks and ripped shingles were scattered about the porch and the weed-filled flower bed. Turning away, she was lashed at by a gust of wind that whipped her hair into her eyes and mouth.

She kicked at a pile of shingles and then jumped back with a squeal when a giant tarantula crawled away from the debris.

“The spider’s harmless,” Wyatt said.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

Kelly clenched her teeth and tried to calm her wrath. She had little success, but she did lower her voice so that she wouldn’t wake Jaci.

“I was prepared for a few loose shutters and peeling paint, not a hole in my roof that a helicopter could fly through.”

That was a slight exaggeration, but nonetheless the house was totally unlivable. And she had a van full of furniture that had been in storage for a year arriving in the morning.

“How can anyone have the kind of luck I’ve had today?” Her words were clipped. Her insides were positively shaking.

“I’d say you’ve had at least one stroke of good luck.”

“I must have blinked during that stroke.”

“That car trouble that delayed you may have saved you and Jaci from serious injury when that tree fell.”

She hadn’t thought of that. It did little to ease her frustration.

“I can get my flashlight from the truck and check out the damage inside, but you won’t be able to determine the full extent of the destruction until daylight.”

“Don’t bother with checking the damage. I’ve seen enough of the house and Mustang Run. I’d just get in my car and keep driving, except that I don’t have a car.”

Her voice broke and her eyes burned with salty tears. One escaped from the corner of her right eye and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. She’d lived though a year of hell, without once allowing herself to whimper or go berserk. She wouldn’t break now. She was stronger than that.

Wyatt stepped closer and slipped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “It just seems like it.”

“Don’t be nice,” she said. “I can’t take nice.” The tears started to flow and she couldn’t stop them.

She didn’t say a word. Neither did Wyatt. He just held her until her insides stopped shaking and the tears ran dry.

“I’m not usually like this,” she said, finally pulling away.

“Good. I’d hate to have to wear a bib every time we were together to keep my shirts dry.”

As usual, he kept the moment light. No doubt he didn’t want her to read too much into his supplying broad shoulders for her to cry on. Kelly backed away from the mortally wounded house. “Let’s get out of here. Just drop me off at the motel and you can escape before the black cloud over me sucks you into its vacuity too.”

“Actually I won’t be dropping you off. I’ll be staying.” She bristled and the air rushed from her lungs. If he thought holding her while she cried entitled him to—

“Not in your room,” he said quickly, before she had the chance to make a fool of herself. “And before you get all bent out of shape, my decision to stay at the motel has nothing to do with you.”





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