Home to Texas

by Kaki Warner

  “What does that matter?”

  “You don’t know Mama. Now tell me what she’s got her sights on this time.”

  “I may have mentioned you had a new project involving horses.”

  “And?”

  Reaching under the spray, he tested the temperature. “And don’t be surprised if she wants to help out.” As he stepped into the shower, he looked back and waggled his dark eyebrows at her. “Last chance.”

  “Just hurry. Family breakfast meeting in fifteen minutes.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The dreaded breakfast revelations went better than KD had expected, possibly because Richard was sitting beside her, offering silent support. And eating like he was preparing to meet the enemy. Which he might be, if Farid was headed this way. Raney already knew KD was out of the army, and she had obviously told Dalton, since he didn’t seem surprised when KD announced that the army had forced her to take a medical separation. Mama pretended shock, even though they all figured she knew, since Dalton was incapable of hiding anything from Mama. No chance for private conversations in this house.

  Relieved to have that behind them, KD moved on to the horse therapy idea. They were immediately intrigued and delighted that KD was working through her recovery toward something more positive. Or maybe they were just tired of her moping around. She certainly was.

  Mama, bless her heart, offered to finance housing, which meant she would pay for as many slabs as the patients would need—

  “Attendees,” KD corrected.

  —plus, campaign-style tents to go on top of them, and would also add a tack tent, a shower tent, and maybe a large screened tent for meetings and meals. “Don’t we still have that propane cook stove that was in the chuck wagon? That would work for now. And perhaps later,” she added with a glaringly bright smile to KD, “if you decide to do this full-time, we can build something more permanent.” A subtle inducement to keep KD tied to the ranch?

  Raney was all in and knew immediately which horses would be best suited to the PTSD “attendees.” Dalton said he and the workers would lend a hand, and Richard added that he could help, too, since he’d worked in construction as a kid and his parents had owned a hardware store, so he knew which tools they’d need. KD took that to mean he intended to stay around awhile, which brightened her day considerably.

  In a way, she was a little suspicious of how quickly and happily they had all accepted the idea. She’d just learned of horse therapy and still had a lot of research to do. But her family’s enthusiastic response was encouraging.

  Then the talk shifted to Khalil Farid, and things turned somber.

  Richard and Dalton did the talking. It was clear they had thought through what to do should the Afghan come to the ranch. Both had calm, precise ways of speaking that seemed to ease Mama’s and Raney’s fears. Although, to KD’s ear, Dalton spoke in a monotone, while Richard injected a bit more animation into his husky voice. That, along with his compelling deep blue eyes, unassailable masculinity, and unshakable self-confidence, seemed to draw people in. Mama, most of all. She was all but fawning over him, the hussy. It seemed Sheriff Ford’s attentions had awakened something long dormant in her menopausal mother. KD found the idea weirdly disturbing.

  Surprisingly, Mama accepted without a fuss that the ranch might be attacked by a revenge-driven Afghan pederast and heroin addict. Since she avoided unpleasant news when it suited her, she doubted even a crazed Middle Eastern Taliban sympathizer and suspected murderer would come all this way just for vengeance.

  Denial could be a wonderful thing.

  Raney was a bit more realistic, insisting she would start carrying her Glock and hold target practice for everyone behind the hay barn, until Dalton convinced her to let him do it, since all that noise and the gunpowder fumes wouldn’t be good for the baby.

  All in all, the big family talk wasn’t as bad as KD had expected. After breakfast was over, everybody scattered—Dalton to give Rosco his morning workout; Mama to whatever church she was gracing now; and Raney up to the nursery to replace all of Lyric’s girly décor with something more masculine. She was convinced she would have a boy, the second one on Mama’s side since her father was born back in the late 1920s.

  Which left KD and Richard on their own as they headed out for her required two-mile walk and to scout potential locations for Tent City, should she decide to start the horse therapy program. There were several suitable spots close to electricity and water but far enough from the other ranch buildings to provide a degree of privacy. The more they talked about it, the more excited KD became. But what about Richard? How would he fit in? Assuming he even wanted to.

  “I like this one best,” he said later, glancing around a flat, grassy meadow bordered by cottonwoods and the gurgling water of nearby Rough Creek. “It has a relaxing feel to it.”

  “I don’t know. The creek floods after a hard rain, although the bank here is pretty high. I guess we could put in a berm to make it higher. And it’s shady, and there’s plenty of room to rig temporary corrals for the horses. It might do.”

  He looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “So you think you’re going to do it?”

  She tipped her head back and studied his bristly chin, liking the scruffy look of it. “I’ve got to do something. What about you? What are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve got a month to decide before I start cutting into my savings. But right now I’m thinking something in law enforcement. Maybe Homeland Security. I have the right degree, experience, and security clearance. As long as it doesn’t entail too much travel, that might work.”

  “What about all those cats that need rescuing?” She thought for a moment, then said, “Sheriff Ford is retiring soon. Maybe you could try for that.” If Richard was elected county sheriff, his office would be in Gunther, which wasn’t that far from the ranch. Or that close.

  He grinned down at her. “Is this a conspiracy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dalton suggested I look into the sheriff job, too. Wonder what Ford would say. I’m sure your mother has already had him run a check on me.”

  “Now’s as good a time as any to ask him. His cruiser just turned into the drive. It must be lunchtime.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Sheriff Ford was a lot friendlier this time, Richard noted, and gave him a clap on the shoulder instead of a suspicious stare. His background check must have turned out okay. Maybe he should volunteer a blood draw and urine sample to seal the deal.

  “Glad I ran into you, Murdock,” the sheriff said, like they hadn’t seen each other on this exact spot less than twenty-four hours ago. “Wanted to talk to you about taking on the sheriff’s job. With my endorsement and the Whitcombs backing you, you’d be a shoo-in for the job.”

  That was abrupt. Richard was about to ask him who had suggested him for the job, but KD jumped in ahead of him.

  “Did Dalton put you up to this?” she asked with a smile.

  The older man gave a sheepish grin. “Actually, KD, it was your mama who mentioned it. She thinks it would be nice having the law on her side, rather than against her.”

  KD pretended shock. “Sheriff Ford, you’re not referring to Deputy Langers, are you?”

  “Toby has nothing but respect for your family,” the sheriff hedged.

  “Except for Dalton.”

  Ford rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll admit he can sometimes be a bit too vigorous in his duties, but it’s part of his job to keep an eye on any convicted felon in the area.”

  Convicted felon? Dalton? Richard looked at KD in confusion.

  She ignored him. “Dalton served his time.”

  “Yes, he did,” Ford said. “But—”

  Seeing the thrust of KD’s chin, Richard quickly broke in. “Wouldn’t your deputy want to step up to the sheriff positi
on?”

  “He might. But I’d prefer you.” Ford studied Richard, that probing look in his faded gray eyes. When he finally spoke, it was in the tone of a man long accustomed to authority, and with the charm of one who could be a great friend or the shrewdness of one who could be a terrible enemy. “I’ll admit I checked you out, son, and I’m impressed with what I learned. With your training, education, and experience, you could take your pick of any of the state or federal law enforcement agencies.”

  Here comes the “but,” Richard thought. And sure enough . . .

  “But if you wanted to be your own boss,” Ford went on, “with less interference and mostly local travel, then I’d be happy to endorse you for Gunther County sheriff. It’s up to you.”

  “I’m flattered, sir. It sounds interesting and I’d definitely like to know more about it. But right now, we have a situation on our hands that could turn ugly, and we could sure use your help. If you have time, why don’t we go to the veranda and talk about it over a pitcher of iced tea?” Richard could be charming, too.

  “Lead the way.”

  “I’ll get Dalton,” KD offered. “He’ll want to be in on this.”

  As soon as Richard and the sheriff sat down with their glasses of iced tea, Dalton and KD came up the veranda steps. After taking seats in the other two upholstered chairs, they went over it all again—Richard explaining about Khalil, his threats, and what little the army could do about it, and Dalton detailing how they planned to protect the ranch and how many of their workers would be available to help.

  The sheriff held up a hand. “Wait. Hold on.” He leaned forward in the chair, his expression showing disbelief. “You really think this Farid fellow will travel all the way from Afghanistan to Rough Creek just to avenge his son?”

  “We do. My guess is he’ll probably come in through Mexico.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It is,” Richard agreed. “But Khalil Farid is clearly unstable. Asef was his only son, and our investigation highlighted some pretty unsavory aspects of his character. To Khalil, it’s a matter of honor to exact revenge for his son’s death as well as the insult to his family name.”

  “Can he do it?”

  Richard nodded. “He’s highly motivated and rich enough to pull it off.”

  Frowning, Ford sat back, obviously still wrestling with the idea that a Taliban sympathizer would come into his jurisdiction to kill the most prominent family in the county he’d been elected to protect. “You got any proof of this?”

  Richard battled frustration. He knew how farfetched it sounded. But he had seen the fanaticism in Khalil Farid’s eyes, and he had spent enough time in Afghanistan to take such threats seriously. “He threatened me and KD in front of witnesses.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’d carry them out,” Ford argued.

  “I didn’t think so, either, Sheriff, until I got word from Afghanistan that a female interpreter involved in his son’s case had been murdered, and shortly after, Farid and two other men made a midnight run to Pakistan before dropping off the radar.”

  Ford studied the faces staring back at him with the bemused expression of a man who suspected he was being pranked but wasn’t sure.

  Richard pressed harder. “I talked to Farid face-to-face, Sheriff. And I saw a man with nothing left—no son, no legacy, nothing but hate. And hate is a hell of a motivator. Especially in tribal Afghanistan.”

  “You’re really convinced he’s coming here?”

  “I’m convinced we need to be prepared in the event he does.”

  “Couldn’t you make us temporary deputies?” KD suggested. “That way, if there is shooting, we would be in the clear.”

  “I don’t know about that,” the sheriff said.

  “What about the Posse Comitatus Act?” Richard asked, vaguely remembering a rarely used statute from one of his pre-law classes. “Can’t a Texas sheriff call up a posse if necessary?”

  Ford gave him a sharp look. “It’s not that simple, son.”

  “Then what would make it simple?” Richard’s patience was wearing thin. “You don’t have the manpower to sit out here in the hopes Khalil might show up. How are we supposed to protect ourselves?”

  “If he’s on the watch list and tries to cross, Homeland Security or the Border Patrol will get him.”

  “And if he comes in illegally?” Dalton asked. “Thousands do it every year.”

  “The feds have added more border agents,” Ford pointed out.

  “But they’re still undermanned,” KD countered.

  “Are you willing to risk this family’s safety on them catching Khalil?” Richard challenged. “Because I’m not.”

  Ford gave a deep sigh. “If I did call up a posse—which I’m not saying I will—I can’t arm you.”

  “We have our own guns,” KD told him.

  “Lord ’a’ mercy,” Ford muttered. “I’m assuming along with rifles and shotguns, you have handguns. They all registered?”

  “Of course,” KD said. “We’re not lawbreakers.”

  Ford’s gaze shifted to Dalton.

  Dalton stared back.

  An interesting exchange. Richard would have to ask KD about it later. He was still having trouble accepting that the quiet horse trainer had been in prison.

  “Are any of you legally licensed to carry a concealed weapon?” Ford asked.

  KD said she was. “Raney and Mama, too.”

  “I have a Florida concealed carry permit,” Richard added. “They have a reciprocal agreement with Texas.”

  The sheriff looked at Dalton.

  The horse trainer gave a tight smile. “You know it’s illegal for me to own a firearm, Sheriff. But I’ll tell you this. If anyone comes onto this property and threatens my wife or her family, I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect them.”

  Ford shifted tactics. “And your ranch hands? They have guns, too?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re welcome to check.”

  They all fell silent when a car came up the drive. The parking area wasn’t visible from the veranda, but the slamming of a car door indicated someone had pulled in. A moment later, high heels clacked along the walk between the parking area and the veranda.

  “Mama,” KD muttered.

  “Hi-do,” Mrs. Whitcomb called, coming up the veranda steps. “Having a party and you didn’t invite me? Shame on you. Hello, Lewis.”

  “Coralee.” The sheriff’s entire countenance changed as he stood and smiled at Mrs. Whitcomb. She definitely had him by the short hairs. “Been trying to convince Murdock to run for sheriff so I can retire.”

  Mrs. Whitcomb beamed at Richard. “He can certainly count on my vote.”

  Apparently, Richard’s little chat with KD’s mother that morning had done the trick. Seems he’d moved from the suspicious list to the cheerfully accepted list.

  “Does Mrs. Whitcomb know?” the sheriff asked Dalton.

  “Know what?” Mrs. Whitcomb asked.

  “We told her at breakfast.”

  “Oh, that.” KD’s mother made an offhand gesture. “You’re talking about that Arab person.”

  “Afghan,” Richard corrected.

  She waved that away, too. “Of course I know, Lewis. But we’re not worried. Not with all these big men watching over us and you on the job.”

  “They’re like horny teenagers,” KD muttered under her breath.

  Fighting a smile, Dalton reached down and brushed dust off his boot.

  Mrs. Whitcomb dropped her purse on the ottoman. “Y’all hungry? Maria is serving roast beef for lunch.”

  Before any of them could respond, she started snapping out orders like a drill sergeant. “Dalton, wake up Raney, if she’s still sleeping. KD, tell Maria the six of us will be eating out here, plus Glenn and Alejandro. Lewis, you and Richard can let the sun shades d
own and turn on the misters while I set the table. It’s Sunday, Richard, so white shirt and tie, please.”

  “Oops,” KD whispered to Richard. “Forgot to mention the dress code.”

  Mrs. Whitcomb made it to the hall doorway, then turned back. “By the way, KD, while I was listening to the most boring sermon I’ve heard in years, I found ten-by-twelve wall tents online and ordered six of them. I thought we could have four sleeping tents, a shower tent, and tack tent.”

  “Who’s this ‘we’?” KD asked.

  Ignoring her, Mrs. Whitcomb added, “I also ordered a big screened canopy tent for meals. I saw TJ after church and told him what we’re doing and he said he’ll deliver flooring, screws and whatnot for the floors next week, so y’all can get started as soon as you decide on a location. Won’t that be fun?”

  “What’re you building?” Ford asked her.

  “KD is going into the horse therapy business to help mental patients.”

  “Vets with PTSD,” Richard clarified. He was beginning to understand why KD had chosen deployment to a combat zone rather than staying at home.

  * * *

  * * *

  That evening, a weather front blew through, thundered and poured for an hour, then settled in with a slow, gentle drizzle that KD thought would be perfect for cuddling.

  Sadly, Richard had other things on his mind. As soon they’d retired to the guest room for the night, he closed the door and said, “Why was your brother-in-law in prison?”

  She should have known. The man could give an elephant memory lessons. “Vehicular homicide,” she told him. “He probably could have gotten off, but to spare his family, he didn’t contest the charges and ended up serving eighteen months of a two-year sentence. Lord, it’s stuffy in here. Turn on the overhead fan, will you?”

  Richard turned on the fan. “Didn’t he have a lawyer? If there was any question of guilt, he shouldn’t have taken a plea.”

  “You sound like a cop.”

  “I was a cop. More or less.”

  Plopping down on the foot of the bed, KD let go a deep sigh. “It’s been a long, stressful day. Do we really have to go through this now?”