Uncertain Future

by Eve Gaddy

  “I’ll question her employers again,” Will said. He aimed a sharp glance at Fielder before turning back to Jed. “Tell me about this argument.” Now came the touchy part. He needed to play this very carefully, or risk Jed losing his temper and only making matters worse for himself.

  “You know what it was about.” Jed’s eyes flashed. With anger or irritation? “I already told you, and besides, you were there. I wanted to go to Juilliard and Frannie wouldn’t sign the paper. She thought music was a foolish dream. I didn’t.”

  “You were angry.”

  “Hell, yes, I was angry.” Jed shook off his lawyer’s restraining hand and stood. “But not mad enough to kill her.”

  Exactly the answer Will had wanted. No last-minute confessions, but a solid denial of guilt. Now if he could just find someone to attest that Frannie was alive after Jed went out on the lake, Jed would be in the clear. Or at least, a lot better off than he was now.

  BY EARLY SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Tessa still hadn’t gotten over her frustration with the system in general and Ranger Will McClain in particular. She hadn’t heard a peep from the man, and three days had gone by. So much for his assurances of getting right to it. Tired of waiting, she decided to take out her aggressions on the fallow flower beds in the front yard. A couple of hours later, the beds looked great, but her temper still needed improvement.

  “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

  Tessa glanced up to see her friend, hands on hips, regarding her with concern. Ellen’s brown hair curled madly around her face, flushed from the summer heat. She’d paired screaming pink shorts with a lime tank top, baggy white socks and beat up tennis shoes. Tessa thought she looked about fifteen instead of the early thirties she knew her to be.

  Still kneeling, Tessa considered her friend before answering. Ellen taught anthropology and looked about as far from Tessa’s idea of a college professor as was possible. But then, Ellen’s non-conformism was one of her charms. Tessa, with the predictability of a Swiss watch, envied her that. She glanced down at her own beige T-shirt, liberally streaked with mud, and an uninspiring pair of baggy denim shorts. Boring, but then who needed to look good when digging in the dirt?

  “I’m planting periwinkles. What’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re planting flowers at a rental house,” Ellen said, strolling up beside her. “Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

  Tessa dusted off her hands and stood. “It looks like this is the only digging I’m going to get in anytime soon. Besides, my landlady said to feel free and plant whatever I wanted.”

  “Of course she did. It’s free labor and materials.” Ellen glanced at the flowers in question. “They do look good, I’ll admit. Maybe she’ll give you a break on the rent.”

  “In my dreams,” Tessa said, grinning. “She’s tighter than the bark on a bois d’arc tree. Come on in and I’ll get us a drink.”

  “Okay.” Ellen followed, chatting about the usual nothing while Tessa washed up. “What happened with your meeting the other day? It must have been important for you to cancel your class.”

  “It was important,” Tessa said grimly, drying her hands on a cup towel. “And totally ineffectual.”

  “Sheriff Fielder still giving you trouble?” Ellen asked sympathetically.

  “No, now I have a new headache.” A very large headache in the form of one Will McClain. “I was this close—” she held her thumb and forefinger a scant fraction of an inch apart “—to having Sheriff Fielder’s permission to resume the dig.”

  She jerked open the refrigerator door and grabbed the tea pitcher. After filling a couple of glasses, she slapped Ellen’s down in front of her.

  Ellen’s lips twitched, but she only asked, “What happened this time?”

  “Not what. Who.” She took a long drink and continued, “The Rangers are involved in the murder case now. An interfering, irritating big lunk of a Texas Ranger vetoed the sheriff’s agreement.” Tessa ground her teeth, remembering McClain’s refusal to listen to her. Listen to her, heck, he had barely acknowledged her existence. That peeved her almost as much as the rest of it. “Five more minutes and I’d have been out of that office and back in business.”

  “Why did he nix it?”

  “Because he’s a control freak and he wants to ruin my life, that’s why!” Too impatient to sit, she paced the small room. “Will McClain has to be the most arrogant, irritating—”

  “Hold it,” Ellen interrupted. “Will McClain is the Texas Ranger? Tall? Hazel eyes? Hell-raiser looks?”

  Her sharp tone combined with the rapid-fire questions made Tessa stop and eye her curiously. “Yes. Why, do you know him?”

  Ellen nodded. “If he’s the McClain I’m thinking of, I was a few years behind him in school.” She patted her hand on her chest, simulating a fast-beating heart. “Blond, with a smile to die for?”

  “He didn’t exactly smile a lot.” Not a smile she wanted to receive, anyway. “But that’s him,” she said, thinking about his face, not to mention the rest of him. “He’s from around here? From Uncertain?”

  “Sort of. He lived here a while.” Ellen took a sip of tea, cleared her throat, and added, “With his foster mother and her two other foster children.”

  Tessa stared at her. Surely not. “His foster mother?” she prompted.

  Ellen nodded soberly. “Yeah, his foster mother. Frannie Granger.”

  “No. I don’t believe it. You’re telling me . . . the murdered woman was his foster mother?”

  “You got it. If he’s the same Will McClain.”

  Her few remaining hopes crashed abruptly. “I’m sure he is. Too coincidental for him not to be.” Besides, she remembered Fielder’s reaction. If he’d known McClain as a kid, that explained a lot.

  “Oh, isn’t this just peachy? He’s investigating his foster mother’s murder. I’ll be lucky if he ever lets me on that land!”

  IT TOOK TESSA AWHILE to track McClain down. She’d had to resort to flattering the deputy to convince him to tell her the Ranger’s whereabouts. In fact, she’d narrowly escaped a date, and had only been saved by the sheriff calling Kyle to come into his office.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised to find McClain at the murder site, she thought, squelching her trepidation. In the months that had passed since the discovery of the bones, Tessa had dutifully followed the sheriff’s commands and not gone near the land. But enough was enough.

  She pulled up beside McClain’s monster black truck, thinking that it could squash her ancient Subaru station wagon like a bug. She got out and slammed the door behind her, wincing at the protesting shriek of the hinges. She needed to oil them, but she kept forgetting.

  It took her several minutes of hiking to reach the area where she’d found Frannie Granger’s remains. She saw McClain first, standing beside what appeared to be a mound of dirt. As she drew closer, her heart plummeted to her toes, bringing her to a dead halt. Mound after mound of dirt piled three to four feet high dotted the landscape. She let out a shriek and ran toward him.

  He turned to glare at her. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “Oh, my God, look what they’ve done!” She moaned, gazing at the unholy mess the sheriff and his men had created. “It’s ruined, the entire archaeological site has been destroyed.”

  “It hasn’t done the murder site much good, either,” McClain said.

  “What were they thinking?”

  “They weren’t,” McClain said harshly. “Obviously Fielder’s experts weren’t so expert.”

  Intent on the disaster surrounding her, she barely heard him. Could anything be salvaged? Anything at all? “They might as well have brought in a backhoe and gone at it.” Her eyes filled with angry tears at the thought of what they’d so carelessly destroyed. “Have they demolished the burial mounds, too?” Her h
eart stopped, waiting for his answer.

  He shrugged. “Haven’t looked that far, but it’s possible. I haven’t been here long.” He looked around, muttered something that sounded like a curse. “They were after murder evidence, so this is likely the only area they’ve massacred. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “I couldn’t have done the damage these people did if I’d tried. A nuclear warhead would have been less destructive.” Again she looked around, despair growing as she took in the extent of the damage. Then she looked at McClain, tall, unblinking, unemotional. She wanted to slap him. “How can you just stand there, like you don’t even care?”

  “I care.” He turned eyes the color of gunmetal, gray and cold as dawn, to her.

  In spite of the heat, she shivered.

  “And someone’s going to pay, you can count on that. But throwing a tantrum won’t solve anything.”

  Stung by the injustice of the remark, she drew herself up. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”

  He lifted one cynical eyebrow. “It looks remarkably like one to me.”

  “If I’m distraught,” she said with dignity, ignoring his snort, “it’s because this—” she waved a hand at the piles of dirt “—is criminal. Sheriff Fielder ought to be flogged for letting anyone in his employ do something like this. He’s supposed to uphold the law, not use it to wreck things.”

  McClain’s smile was harsh. She had the odd thought that it promised retribution. He would be a dangerous man to cross. Her heart fluttered a bit. A dangerous man to be involved with at all, she decided.

  “Another thing we’re in agreement about. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Fielder.”

  “But what do you intend to do about the site? And what do you intend to do about me?” She wouldn’t cry, not now. Not in front of him. “I don’t even know if I can salvage anything, but—”

  “Are you any good?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me?” What on earth did he mean by that? “Any good?”

  “At your job,” he said impatiently. “What are your credentials?”

  “My credentials are not in question here,” she snapped. “The sheriff’s methods are the problem. But I happen to have a master’s degree from one of the finest institutions in the country.” She couldn’t bear to think of the Ph.D. slipping through her grasp.

  “Could you still work here? Still find evidence, sift through these piles of dirt?”

  “I don’t—” Confused, she surveyed the landscape again. “Yes, I suppose I could. Some of the data would obviously be corrupted, compromised, but—”

  He interrupted. “You could still get information from this area.”

  It wasn’t that easy, but he seemed to want a simple answer. “Yes. But . . .”

  His gaze locked with hers. He smiled at her, a smile that almost made her forget her name. “Fine. You can start work for me Monday morning.”

  Chapter Four

  “I BEG YOUR PARDON? Work for you?” Tessa asked, unable to believe her ears. “Are you insane?”

  Will’s lips quirked. “Not last I checked.”

  “Why on earth would I want to work for you when the Sheriff’s Department is the cause of this—” shuddering, she gestured to encompass the mess “—this debacle.”

  His mouth straightened into a grim line. “I said work for me, not the sheriff. You’d be dealing with the Rangers.”

  “Oh, excuse me for not understanding the distinction.” Propping her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Besides, I have a job. I have two jobs. Or I did until Sheriff Fielder and his flunkies destroyed one of them.”

  His gaze surveyed the land before coming back to meet hers. “Do you want another chance at the archaeological site, or not?”

  His way or the highway. He might not have said the words; nevertheless, she heard them clearly. “What other choice do I have?” She shook her head in disgust, admitting defeat. “What is it you want me to do?”

  He nodded briskly, as if he’d expected her agreement. “Excavate this area of the site. Where you found the body. If you uncover anything that hasn’t been destroyed by whoever tossed this dirt around, I want to know about it. Once you’ve finished with this area, you can resume work on your Caddo dig. No interference.”

  She set her jaw. He wasn’t running roughshod over her. No sir, not when his lawmen cronies had already destroyed weeks of work, not to mention the integrity of the site. “Not good enough, Ranger McClain. I want part of my team to be allowed to resume work at the Caddo burial mound immediately. I’ll need a few people to help me out with what you want me to do, but certainly not everyone.”

  If work at the archaeological site continued now, she might just finish her thesis after all. That is, if the burial mound had been left alone. Thinking about it, she winced. Probably too optimistic an assumption, given the state of the rest of the land in question.

  “Agreed,” he said. “But no students at the murder site. Keep them well away from here. Professionals only, and I want you supervising the entire time anyone else is present.”

  She shrugged an agreement. “Fine by me. The students are interested in the nineteenth century anyway, not the twentieth or twenty-first.” Although a number of them probably would be curious about a local murder come to light. “By the way, do you intend to pay us?”

  He shot her a surprised glance. “This is an official investigation. You’ll be paid the going rate for a forensic archaeologist.”

  “I’m not a forensic archaeologist.”

  “Close enough.” He waved a hand at the wreckage. “Given the shape this site is in, I doubt it will matter. You’re an archaeologist, aren’t you? Which is a hell of a lot more than these jokers were. At least you know how to handle what you find and how to run a dig.”

  That she did. She’d been involved with uncounted archaeological sites since the age of twelve. “And you’ll keep the sheriff and his men out of here?”

  Will smiled grimly. “No problem there. The sheriff won’t be bothering you.”

  “Then I accept. But I won’t be able to start Monday morning. I have classes.”

  “Work it out however you can. Just get on it as soon as possible.” He put out a hand. “It’s a deal, then.”

  “Deal,” she echoed faintly, slipping her hand into his much larger one. He shook it but didn’t release it. Their gazes met as she felt the warmth from his palm. It’s just a handshake, she thought. No big deal.

  Oh, no? Then why are you tingling, Tessa?

  She cleared her throat, and he allowed her hand to drop. Heat crept up her neck and she cursed her fair complexion, knowing she was blushing. What was the matter with her? He had simply offered her a job. Abruptly she turned and began walking to her car.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, falling into step beside her. “I’m finished here for now.”

  Dazed, she tried to grasp what had just occurred. She’d agreed to work with the Texas Rangers on a nineteen-year-old murder case. She glanced up at the man beside her. Lord, he was good-looking. And autocratic and demanding, she reminded herself. What would he be like to work with?

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  Well, there’s your answer. “If you think I’m starting on this thing now, you really are crazy.”

  He laughed. “I’m asking you to dinner, Tessa. It has nothing to do with the job.”

  Shocked, she stared at him. He seemed sincere. Still, even a new haircut couldn’t account for a man like Will McClain asking her out. She was hardly his type. Someone like Amanda Jennings, the banker’s twice—or was it three times?—divorced daughter, seemed more his style. Blond, busty, beautiful. Or maybe a sultry brunette. Anyway, not a mousy, redheaded archaeologist. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. She’d already agreed to take on the job. What was he after?

 
“Why?” she asked after a long pause.

  He still looked amused, if a little taken aback. “Why did I ask you to dinner?” They reached her car. He opened her door, gesturing for her to get in.

  She nodded and slid into the driver’s seat. “I said I’d work for you. You don’t have to bribe me.”

  He laughed and closed the door, placing his hands on the open window. “It’s no bribe.”

  He leaned down, eye level with her. His irises were the oddest color she’d ever seen, like they couldn’t make up their minds between green and gray. Right now they glowed spring-grass green. And that smile of his . . . definite heartbreaker material.

  “I’m in the mood for Mexican food and the company of a pretty woman. So, how about it?”

  Pretty? Her? Oh, right. She might not be dog ugly, but plain was about the best she could hope for. But she didn’t call him on it. Instead, she went at it from another angle. “How do you know I’m not married?”

  He glanced at her left hand, which was gripping the steering wheel, then back to her eyes. “No ring.” His lips curved upward. “I’m a cop, remember? We notice things like that.”

  “Maybe I don’t wear one. After all, I dig in the dirt for a living.”

  The smile remained, but for the first time his voice held a hint of exasperation. “Tessa, do you want to go to dinner with me or not?”

  She was tempted. Really tempted. In fact, he was the first man she remembered being attracted to in ages. What harm could it do? As long as she remained wary, nothing bad would happen. “All right. I’d like that.”

  “Are you always this hard on men who ask you out?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “Yes.” Of course, until very recently she hadn’t needed to be hard on anyone.

  He smiled and straightened. “I’ll pick you up around seven. Don’t dress up. Great food, but it’s a dive.”

  “Don’t you want to know where I live?”

  “I’m a cop. I’ll figure it out.”