by B. J Daniels
He knew that wasn’t why she was inviting the two of them for lunch. She wanted to help Chelsea’s induction into their rodeo family. If Abigail Harper accepted Chelsea, the rest would, too. Eventually.
“Thank you,” he said, touched by her thoughtfulness.
“Good. Say twelve-thirty?”
He thought he should explain his relationship with Chelsea so Abigail didn’t misunderstand. “About this situation—”
Abigail waved him off. “I trust you’re doing what you need to do. I think we’ll eat out here in the shade.” She turned and headed back into her trailer, stopping at the door to smile over her shoulder at him. “I hope you like pigs in a blanket. That’s what the girls wanted.”
* * *
CHELSEA LIKED Abigail Harper immediately. The woman, not much older than her, was warm and friendly and went out of her way to make Chelsea feel at home.
They were joined for lunch by Abigail’s husband Rowdy. He was a nice-looking man, slimmer than Jack, with dark hair and a wonderful sense of humor. Chelsea recognized his voice at once as the announcer she’d heard last night in Lubbock.
A light Texas breeze stirred the leaves of the nearby trees, and Chelsea listened to the three adults chat about rodeo life as the girls whispered to themselves, looking up only when Rowdy teased one of them.
It was obvious that Sam adored this family, and Chelsea could see how thankful Jack must be to have the Harpers on the circuit.
“So you’re going to spend some time on the road with us,” Abigail said to Chelsea.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.”
Jack kept his eyes on his lunch.
“It can be exhausting,” Abigail said, glancing fondly at her husband, “but there’s no other place I want to be.”
Chelsea could feel Sam’s gaze on her through most of lunch. The girl had been watching her and Jack from under the brim of her hat.
She still couldn’t help but wonder why Sam wasn’t more upset about her tagging along for the week. All she could figure was that Sam had an agenda of her own—just like she had the first night with the casserole. Perhaps she should be worried, Chelsea thought.
Sam and Becky excused themselves and took off to play in the trees again. Rowdy said he had to get back to the rodeo office. Chelsea could tell Jack was worried about leaving her alone with Abigail, but he obviously had things he also needed to do, so he and Rowdy left together.
“It’s wonderful that Sam has Becky,” Chelsea said as she helped pick up the lunch dishes. “I would imagine all this traveling could get lonely for a child.”
“It is nice they have each other,” Abigail agreed. “I worry about what Becky will do without her friend when Jack leaves the circuit.”
“Jack plans to leave?” Chelsea asked in surprise as she followed the woman into the homey trailer.
“All bull riders have to at some point,” she said, looking as if she’d spoken out of turn.
Chelsea watched Abigail fill the sink with hot soapy water. “Jack was my first love.” She almost added only love.
Abigail looked up. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I’d like to. I really need to talk to someone who might understand. I can see how much you care about Jack and Sam.”
Abigail nodded. “Jack is a good man.”
“Yes, he is.” Chelsea picked up the dish towel and began to dry the dishes as Abigail put them on the drainer. “There was a misunderstanding the summer he worked on my family’s ranch. Jack was terribly hurt. Before that the two of us were planning to spend our lives together. I’m here hoping to rectify that misunderstanding. We were young, but—” She glanced out the window to the chutes, where Jack was standing with the other cowboys. “But it was the kind of love you don’t ever forget.”
When she looked back, Abigail was smiling.
“The problem is my family has money,” Chelsea said.
“That doesn’t sound like much of a problem.”
“It is to Jack. I’m hoping it’s something we can get past, but I’m not sure how he feels and…” She stopped and smiled at her hostess. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“If you love him, don’t give up on him,” Abigail said, reaching over to squeeze Chelsea’s hand. “Men seldom know what they really need.”
Chelsea finished helping with the dishes, feeling as if she had at least one supporter in the camp, then went to find Jack.
“I need to run a couple of errands and see about getting my car put in storage while I’m gone,” she told him, not daring to admit where she really had to go—to see one of her possible suspects, Lance Prescott.
“We leave right after the rodeo,” he warned.
“I’ll be back in time to see you ride.”
It seemed to surprise him that she would want to see him ride.
She found the carnival in Fort Worth where Lance Prescott was working, and after asking directions, walked through the swarm of people to a ride called Hell on Wheels. The air reeked of corn dogs and cotton candy, reminding her of the rodeo. Children cried and argued with their parents, while vendors badgered customers to try their wares and patrons shrieked over the clamor of the whirling rides.
Lance Prescott was right where she was told he would be, sitting by the gate to a caged bumper-car ride, looking bored and cranky. He was of average size, with muscular arms and shoulders like the fighter he was purported to be. He looked a little less bored as she approached. Chelsea couldn’t remember the man at all from that summer ten years ago.
But last night she’d read everything Dylan had been able to dig up on him. Lance had had several run-ins with the law and served some time for assault. He’d drifted from job to job and seemed to have trouble staying with one more than a year. Alcohol and possibly drugs had contributed to his problems and, no doubt, his two divorces. Dylan had noted that the man should be considered dangerous. All in all, he seemed like a perfect rustling suspect.
“Lance Prescott?”
Suspicion instantly flared in his eyes. “Who’s asking?” He checked his watch, then glanced toward the half-dozen bumper cars banging around inside the caged area.
“My name’s Chelsea Jensen.” The name didn’t seem to ring any bells. “I’m from the Wishing Tree Ranch outside of San Antonio.” Was it her imagination or did his gaze narrow? “I’m trying to find out about something that happened ten years ago, the summer you worked there.”
This time there was no doubt about it, his gaze closed down. He stood and flipped a switch. A bell clanged, and all the bumper cars stopped, frozen in motion. Lance turned his back on her and went inside the gate to unbuckle some of the younger kids behind the wheels.
She waited, more determined than ever after her talk with Abigail. If she and Jack had a chance at a future, she needed Cody on her side. And there was only one way to make that happen—to prove once and for all that Jack was no thief.
She watched Lance take tickets from another half-dozen kids, get them buckled into cars, then come back to flip the switch. The bell rang again and the cars began to move.
“I really could use your help,” she said over the racket. “I’m trying to find out who was working with Ray Dale that summer, rustling cattle.”
He didn’t look at her.
“I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble. I just need to know for personal reasons.”
“Even asking is causing trouble,” Lance said, watching the kids ram into each other.
A thought struck her. “I could make it worth your while.” She pulled a fifty out of her purse. “Anything you tell me would be kept in the strictest of confidence.”
Nervously, he glanced at the fifty, then at the carnival crowd. “Talking about Ray Dale could get a person hurt. Maybe even killed. It would take a lot more money than that.”
Get a person killed? “I’m sure you’re exaggerating about the danger—” He met her gaze. Like C. J. Crocker, he appeared scared, and Lance Prescott didn’t look like th
e kind of guy who scared easily.
“Why would talking about Ray Dale be dangerous?” she asked quietly.
Lance shook his head as if he was done talking.
“I might consider…offering a reward,” she said, the idea and the amount just popping into her head. “Say…ten thousand dollars?”
He jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “Dead men have no need for cash. Ray Dale made the mistake of talking to the wrong people. That’s one mistake I don’t intend to make.” He hit the switch. The bell rang, the cars stopped. Lance didn’t look back as he went to unbuckle the kids.
Stunned, she watched him glance around as if he feared he’d already been seen talking to her. Murder? Was that what he meant? Had Ray Dale been murdered for talking to the wrong people?
She scanned the crowd just as Lance had, wondering if the person he feared was here. But she didn’t see anyone watching her.
As she left she felt a shiver. There was no statute of limitations on murder.
While she made arrangements to have the car stored, she called Dylan.
“I have to ask you something,” she said when he answered. “Is there any chance that Ray Dale could have been murdered?”
“Murdered? Where did you hear this?” Dylan asked.
“Lance Prescott.”
“Did this exchange involve money?” Dylan asked suspiciously.
“He wouldn’t take a dime. In fact, like C. J. Crocker, he seemed…scared, said even talking about Ray Dale could get him hurt or killed. He implied that Ray Dale was killed because he talked to the wrong people. He wouldn’t tell me any more. What does ‘the wrong people’ mean to you?”
“Law enforcement,” Dylan said.
“That’s how I took it. But why would a rustler be talking to the cops?”
“Not cops. Brand inspectors,” he said. “Don’t do any more investigating on your own until I get back to you. Instead of a rustler, you might be looking for a killer.”
She shuddered at the thought.
“Are you at home?”
“No, I’m traveling with Jack on the circuit. It’s a long story. You can reach me on my cell phone, though.”
“Chelsea? Be careful. You don’t know who you can trust, and three of the six men who worked for your father that summer are following the circuit with you. Another one’s in the same town. And we can’t be sure that Tucker McCray won’t hear you’ve been asking questions and show up as well.”
Especially since she’d just offered a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE WAS NO SIGN of Jack when Chelsea returned, but Sam came barreling out of the motor home with her friend Becky.
“Hi,” Chelsea said. “Want to help me put away the groceries?” She hoped she could get to know Sam during this week, maybe bond with the girl.
“What did you buy?” Sam asked, peeking into the bags.
“Lots of good stuff. Since I’m supposed to cook and we have to leave right after your dad rides, I thought I’d make a mushroom-and-asparagus quiche for dinner. How does that sound?”
Sam nearly gagged. “Quiche? Is that the icky stuff that looks like a pie?”
“Well, I could make something else I guess….”
“Do you know how to make enchiladas?” Sam asked.
“Enchiladas?” She could run get the ingredients and make them before Jack rode if she hurried. “Sure. Would you like that?”
“Great. I’ll be at Becky’s.” The girl was gone before Chelsea could ask what kind of enchiladas.
After a quick return trip to the store, Chelsea made a batch of cheese enchiladas and put them in the oven so they’d be ready. Still no Jack. She’d almost think he was avoiding her.
She realized she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about the fight he’d supposedly had with Ray Dale. Given what Lance had told her, she was all the more anxious to hear his side of it.
She glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she would have time for a shower before Jack’s ride.
The door banged open and Chelsea turned, hoping it would be him.
“Dad wants to see you,” Sam said. “He’s over by the chutes. He said to hurry.” With that, Sam took off running. Chelsea could hear Becky giggling behind the motor home as Sam went to join her.
Suspiciously, Chelsea glanced out the window. Sure enough, there was Jack standing with Terri. Neither looked the least bit interested in talking to her.
The barrel racer turned suddenly, as if she sensed Chelsea might be watching, then leaned closer to Jack and whispered something in his ear that made them both laugh.
Chelsea let out a mild expletive and dropped the curtain back into place. Just because she was traveling with Jack didn’t mean he wouldn’t still be seeing the barrel racer.
Heartsick, she told herself what she needed was a shower. A very cold shower. Maybe it would bring her to her senses. What was she doing here anyway? What was the point? Jack didn’t care if she cleared his name. Actually, he’d prefer she forget the whole thing.
“Chelsea?”
“Sam!” she said, her hand dropping over her heart to keep it from leaping out of her chest. “You startled me!”
“I thought you were going to go talk to Dad.”
“Nope, you’re going to have to do your own dirty work,” she told the girl as she pulled off her boots and dropped them beside the chair. “I’m going to take a shower.” She could see the disappointment on Sam’s face, but Chelsea hadn’t finagled her way into this week in order to help break up Jack’s little affair. Right now she couldn’t remember why she was here, or exactly what she’d hoped to accomplish.
But at least now she had a pretty good idea why Sam hadn’t thrown a fit about her coming with them. It appeared Sam was hoping to pit Chelsea against Terri Lyn.
At least she and Sam had something in common, Chelsea thought. Neither wanted to see Jack around the barrel racer. Of course, Sam didn’t seem to want her father interested in any woman, something Chelsea knew she should keep in mind.
She quickly padded barefoot into the small bathroom before Sam could argue. Once she’d closed herself into the tiny compartment, she realized there wasn’t room to turnaround, let alone undress.
“It helps if you close this door,” she heard Sam say from the hall. When she looked out, Sam had shut the folding door that separated the back bunk and miniature bath from the rest of the motor home.
Quickly she stripped down, left her clothing in the hallway, and stepped into the shower. It was claustrophobic at best, and the tepid water quickly turned cold. Be careful what you wish for, Chelsea thought as she hurriedly rinsed in the freezing water.
But the shower did manage to cool her off, and she found herself all the more determined to stick out the week against all odds.
Her hair wet, no makeup on, and still buttoning up her shirt, she opened the folding door expecting to see Sam. Instead, Jack stood in the middle of the room.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in surprise.
He opened his mouth as if to answer, then closed it again as he stared at her.
She looked down self-consciously to make sure she’d buttoned up her shirt. Nothing exciting going on there. “The enchiladas are cooking.”
“When did you think we were going to eat them?” he asked.
She stared at him. “After your ride.”
“After my ride, we’re heading for Kansas City. Didn’t Sam tell you we would eat on the road? I told her to tell you not to make anything for dinner.”
So Sam had set her up. Great. “We don’t have to eat the enchiladas.” She reached over to turn off the oven.
“No, since you went to the trouble of making them, we’ll eat them,” he said, sounding put out. “We’ll just get a later start.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.
She was definitely having an effect on Jack, Chelsea realized, but was it really the one she wanted?
She fought the urge to kick someth
ing. And to strangle Sam.
As she started to close the door behind Jack, she spotted C. J. Crocker in what appeared to be an intense conversation by his trailer. The clown seemed to be arguing with someone just out of her view.
Still barefoot, Chelsea stepped outside and tiptoed to the back of the motor home, where she could see who C. J. Crocker was arguing with. Ace Winters. As she was watching, Ace grabbed C.J. by the neck of his costume and shoved him up against the trailer.
Rowdy Harper’s voice came over the loudspeaker in the rodeo arena to announce that the bull riding was coming up. Ace let go of C.J. and stalked toward the ring. For a long moment the rodeo clown stood there, leaning against his trailer, then headed for the arena behind him.
Chelsea rushed back inside to get her boots on. What had that been about? Rustling ten years ago? Murder? More than likely, it had nothing to do with Ray Dale Farnsworth. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder as she found her boots. She had to hurry, since Jack would be riding first.
Even with the oven on low to keep the enchiladas warm, it was unbearably hot in the motor home. She took her socks and boots outside and sat down on the step, thinking about Ace and Crocker.
A scream rose in Chelsea’s throat as she thrust her foot partway into her second boot. Something cold and crawly was moving beneath the ball of her foot. “Ohhh!”
She snatched the boot from her foot, sending it cartwheeling across the grass, where it came to rest on its side. A large, ugly dark-brown thing crawled slowly out of the boot.
Chelsea swallowed back the scream as the toad hopped away into the cool shadows at the edge of the trees. From those same shadows she heard muffled girl giggles.
Picking up a boot, she shook it out and pulled it on. It had only been a toad. A childish prank. She shook her head at her own foolishness. Sam was just having a little fun at her expense. She’d win the girl over, just as she hoped to win Jack over. Shoot, she had a whole week.
She glanced at the stand of trees, but saw no sign of the girls, so she headed toward the grandstands.
A glob of wet mud struck her just below the shoulder and stuck to her clean shirt and skin. She stopped walking and turned slowly, catching sight of her attackers. Sam and Becky peered around a large tree at the edge of a shallow ditch, dressed in only shorts and T-shirts. Their eyes widened in alarm as if they hadn’t expected to actually hit her with the mud.