by Joanna Wayne
“Who was that on the phone?” Grandma Pearl asked as she stepped into the kitchen.
“It was Tague. He called to say he was bringing a woman home with him.”
“Bringing the wash home? Where’s it been?” She chuckled as she got herself a glass of water from the tap.
Obviously she’d left her hearing aids back in her room. “Not the wash, Grandma, a woman and her young son.”
“Tague? Bringing a female home to meet the family? You must have heard him wrong.”
“He didn’t say that Alexis was a girlfriend, just that she would be spending the night.”
“Hope you told him that you don’t put up with any hanky-panky in this house.”
“If he had hanky-panky on his mind, I’m sure he would have stayed in town.”
Tague was twenty-six and Carolina had no illusions that he was a virgin. But he wasn’t the playboy type, either. He worked hard and played hard, but serious
relationships or marriage seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.
But that could change in a heartbeat. It had for her the first time she’d looked up and saw Hugh smile.
* * *
TAGUE SET THE safety on his pistol and secured it to his belt holster beneath his shirt. Then, after taking another wary look around the premises, he took the stairs back to Alexis’s apartment.
Like his brothers, Tague was an excellent marksman. His father had seen to that. Still, Tague had no desire to shoot it out with the bastard who’d made that intimidating phone call to Alexis. But in a case of defense, he figured he was up to the task.
However, he would love to connect with a few uppercuts to the body of the sneaky bastard. Let the thug see what it was like to pick on a man instead of woman.
But there had been no sign of anyone lurking around the apartment or the parking lot. The carjacker was probably across town, holed up in some dingy room, getting high on drugs he’d bought with the money from Alexis’s wallet. The phone call was probably just to get his rocks off.
He closed the door behind him and jerked to attention at the sound of a door or drawer being slammed in Alexis’s bedroom. She walked out before he could check on her. Tommy was a step behind.
“Do you need any assistance?” he asked.
“It would help if you could keep Tommy occupied for a few minutes. He woke up as soon as I started packing.”
Of course he had. Who could sleep with a demolition crew on the premises?
Alexis leaned over until she was eye level with Tommy, flashing cleavage that rocked Tague back on the heels of his boots.
“I want you to stay in here with Mr. Lambert, Tommy, while Mommy packs our luggage for a fun trip.”
“Don’t wanna go.”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
“There will be horses,” Tague volunteered.
“No.” Tommy wrapped his arms about Alexis’s hips and peeked out from behind a shapely thigh. “Don’t wanna.”
“He always says no,” Alexis said. “It goes with being two. Stay with Mr. Lambert,” she said again, this time with authority.
Tague experienced a pang of panic. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“Get one of the Sesame Street videos out of the basket next to the TV and play it for him. He loves Big Bird.”
Tommy apparently liked that prospect. He let go of his mother’s leg and ran to the sofa as fast as his short legs would carry him, his arms out as if he were a plane—or a big bird.
“Big Bird,” Tommy called, as Alexis flicked on the TV and then left to go back to her noisy packing.
Tague got the DVD started and then paced the small room as Tommy settled in to watch the show. He was glad they’d opted to go to the ranch instead of his spending the night here. He had nothing against the apartment—except claustrophobia.
He’d never met a true cowboy who could tolerate closed-in spaces for long. Like his dad used to say, if you can see your neighbor’s house from yours, you live too damn close.
Still a bit uneasy about what he was getting into, Tague pulled out his iPhone and looked “Alexis Beranger” up on Google. There were several people by that name. None appeared to be the gorgeous young mother in the next room who was feverishly packing to go home with him. No Facebook account. No Twitter account.
But at least he knew she wasn’t wanted by the cops. Whitfield might have let her slide, but he was pretty sure Detective Hampton would have run her through the system. Just being an apparent victim wouldn’t have convinced a hard-nosed detective that she was a random hit and not connected to the perp.
Tommy slid off the sofa and started gyrating to the beat of the background music on the video. Well, not exactly to the beat, but he was making a stab at it. He was a cute kid, but Tague saw no real resemblance between him and his mother.
He walked over to a round lamp table and studied the selection of small framed pictures. They were all of Tommy at various ages from birth to the present. No one else was in any of the pictures, though some looked as if another person or the background had been cropped out.
Evidently the kid’s dad was a father non grata.
Alexis poked her head into the room. “How are you at zipping overflowing suitcases?”
“Haven’t had a lot of practice. I travel light, but I’ll give it a try.” He joined her in the bedroom and stared in disbelief. Not one but two extra-large suitcases were brimming over with clothes that looked as if they had just been pulled from hangers and thrown in. Two large shopping bags were also nearing capacity.
Her closet was empty. So were the dresser drawers that had been left open. And she’d done all that in less than thirty minutes. She was definitely in a rush to get out of here.
“Exactly how long are you planning to be on the run?”
“As long as necessary. I’m not coming back here until the carjacker is behind bars.”
“That could be any day now.”
“But it might not be for weeks—or ever.”
From the looks of this room, she’d already decided to leave for good. “Don’t you think that completely uprooting your life is a little overkill at this point?”
Her hands flew to her hips and her eyes flashed fire. “Have you ever been brutally attacked by a maniac, Tague Lambert?”
“No.”
“Well, I have. Tommy and I barely escaped with our lives, and I have no intention of standing by and letting another lunatic put me or him through that kind of hell. So don’t tell me about overreacting.”
She opened another drawer and began tossing its contents into a shopping bag. “Feel free to renege on your offer of a ride if you think I’m unbalanced. I’ll call a taxi if it comes to that. But I am leaving this house tonight.”
That much was perfectly clear.
She started to march from the room. Tague grabbed her arm and tugged her to a stop.
“I’m not backing out on the offer, Alexis. I’ll load the whole house if that’s what you want, even if it means renting a moving van. But I get the feeling there’s something more going on here.”
“I was threatened by a criminal. Isn’t that enough?”
“You said he didn’t say anything.”
“He didn’t, but he called to frighten me. That tells me all I need to know.”
But not all he needed to know. “What about calling Tommy’s father? If you think your son is in danger, I think you should let his father know.”
“His father is not a part of our lives.”
The bitterness seemed to spring from deep inside her.
“Was it Tommy’s father who attacked you?”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were moist with unshed tears. “Yes, but please don’t ask me anything else about him, Tague
. I’m trying hard to put that part of my life behind me.”
But not doing a good job at it. “Where is Tommy’s father now?”
“I have no idea. He moves around a lot and we have no contact.”
“Did you press charges against him when he attacked you?”
“Will you please just let it go, Tague?” Desperation clung to every syllable.
“For now, if that’s the way you want it.”
“It is. And after tonight, I’ll take all my past and current problems and get out of your life for good. I’ll rent a car first thing in the morning and move on.”
For reasons too complex and confusing to think about, he was not looking forward to that.
* * *
BOOKER DELL COLLINS stared into the dingy mirror over the stained porcelain washbasin in the cheap motel just outside the Fort Worth city limits. He hadn’t dared go back home after wrecking the stolen Honda.
Even if the woman hadn’t given the cops his description, they would have shown up at his house to question him. Any time there was a crime committed on his turf, cops couldn’t wait to track down him and the other leaders of the Death Knights. The stinkin’ police were determined to tie something on them that would stick.
They never would on Booker. For the most part, the cops played by the rules. Booker Dell had no friggin’ rules and no boundaries. That’s what made him invincible.
He’d killed more than once to silence an eyewitness, but with his reputation, all he had to do most of the time was threaten. The slut who’d scratched up his face wouldn’t get off that light.
He ran his fingers down the angry open wound that ran from the corner of his right eye all the way to his bloody lip. The left side of his face was even worse. Her fingernails had missed that eye altogether but had dug so deep across his cheek that flesh hung from the wound like raw hamburger.
She’d have never gotten the chance to claw at him if he hadn’t been stoned half out of his mind on crack. Tatum’s crack, the best money could buy. And last night Booker Dell had carried enough of the green stuff to buy a month’s supply.
Cash like that didn’t drop into his hands too often. And he hadn’t even had to steal it.
Of course he hadn’t quite carried off his part of the bargain, but the man who’d paid him would have a hell of a time getting his money back.
All Booker Dell cared about now was that his face was ripped up bad. When it finally healed, there would be ugly freaking scars. That demanded payback.
Too bad, especially since Alexis Beranger was a good-looking bitch. Now he’d have to change that. A bottle of acid in the face the way he’d done with Missy Evers would mess Alexis up so bad that men would get sick to their stomachs just looking at her.
But first, he’d give her the kind of night she’d never forget. It would be the last time any man would willingly climb in bed with her. Booker Dell was not without a twinge of compassion.
* * *
DRIVING-HOME TRAFFIC HAD been bumper to bumper when Alexis and Tommy had left Dallas. But now that they’d turned off the main highway, they shared the blacktop road with only a spattering of other cars and pickup trucks.
Tague pushed the speed limit on the straight, flat road, flying past rows of trees and miles of barbed wire fences.
Alexis sat in the backseat of the double cab next to Tommy, a package of frozen peas she’d grabbed out of her freezer on her way out pressed against her eye.
“Boo-boo hurt, Mommy?” Tommy reached over to give her a comforting pat.
“I’m okay, sweetheart. It doesn’t hurt. It just looks funny.”
He’d calmed down now, but he’d become so upset when Tague had started carrying his toys out of the apartment that he’d thrown a nerve-racking and ear-blasting temper tantrum. It had taken a bit of persuasion to convince him that he was going in the truck with his prized possessions. And she’d had to promise him that she’d ride in the seat next to him all the way.
She tried to hand Tommy the last quarter of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“All done, Mommy.”
“Almost,” she corrected. “You have a few more bites.”
He shook his head and made a monotonous noise that sounded like an engine with a dead battery.
“You have to finish the sandwich so you can grow big and strong.”
“Want kokalat.”
She handed him his sipper cup. “If you drink your milk and finish your sandwich, you can have one square of chocolate.”
Amazingly, he took a sip of milk and then exchanged the cup for the rest of his sandwich. He nibbled slowly, and her mind went back to the phone call that had chilled her to the bone.
Even now, she was so on edge she couldn’t think straight. Her nerves were frazzled to the point of meltdown.
So close to a meltdown, in fact, that she’d almost told Tague everything back at the apartment. Then somehow her sense of survival had checked in and plunged her into reality. No matter how sympathetic Tague appeared, she couldn’t trust him or anyone else with the truth.
Far better that he think it was the carjacker who’d made the call.
“All done, Mommy.” Tommy held up his hands to show that he had indeed finished his sandwich.
“You ate every bite,” she bragged.
He grinned and her chest constricted painfully. She’d broken the law, crossed every line, and taken justice in her own hands. All to keep Tommy safe. She couldn’t give into weakness now.
But why the phone call from Scott? If he had her phone number, he must also know that she went by the name of Alexis Beranger now. He’d know exactly where to find her.
She’d lived every day of the last seven months in fear that he’d burst through the door one day and it would all be over. She’d go to jail, and he’d take Tommy home with him.
Tommy would never be safe again. He couldn’t fend for himself against his father’s demons. He thrived on love. He needed her.
She gave him his square of chocolate. He gobbled it down and then reached for her with his sticky hands. She kissed his fingertips and then cleaned his face and hands with a wet wipe.
Tague turned onto a meandering two-lane asphalt road. After a mile or two, they reached a driveway bordered by ancient oaks and protected by double metal gates. The bronzed sign hanging above the gate told her they’d arrived at Bent Pine Ranch.
Tague touched a control button on his visor and the gates swung open.
Alexis sat up straight, a new kind of nervousness setting in as they clattered over the cattle gap.
She looked around. The setting sun was dead ahead, casting a golden hue over a sea of green—grasses that swayed in the wind, the needles of towering pines, the dark, shiny leaves of a magnolia tree. And in the midst of it all, cattle grazed lazily in fenced pastures.
The pastoral scene embodied a kind of peaceful existence she’d never experienced but desperately needed. But Tague was not just a simple cowboy. She wouldn’t be spending the night in a quiet, safe bunkhouse away from prying eyes.
His family was wealthy and socially connected. And they’d report her to the sheriff in a New York minute if they suspected she was anything less than a law abiding citizen.
“Where is the house?” she asked.
“Another quarter mile and over a slight rise.”
She was pointing out the cows to Tommy when the Lambert home came into view. It sprawled out in every direction as if it couldn’t decide where it should start or finish. The steep brown roof was multigabled with at least three chimneys.
But other than being large, it was nothing like Alexis had expected. Instead of massive doors and a huge circular driveway that screamed wealth and substance, there was a charming porch with rockers and plants and a porch swing loaded with colorful pillows.
The driveway was an extension of the road they’d come in on. It led to the side of the house and a separate four-car garage.
The house was wood, painted a pale forest-green so that it fit in with the surroundings as if it had sprung up from the earth the way the towering pines had.
Tague stopped the car near the front door. “I’ll take you in and introduce you to the family and then I’ll come back for your things.”
“Just the small red duffel,” she said. “That and the tote I put in the front seat hold everything Tommy and I will need for tonight.”
“Then I guess I won’t need the forklift,” he teased.
By the time Tommy was unbuckled, Tague had rounded the car and opened her door. Tommy crawled out and then reached back for his stuffed bear.
“Teddy like cows.”
“Good,” Tague said, “because we have plenty of cows and horses, too.”
Tommy’s face lit up. “Go see the horseys.”
“Great idea, little buddy. As soon as we get your luggage inside.”
A white-haired woman stepped onto the porch and waved.
A rush of guilt swept though Alexis, adding another layer of complexity to her already burgeoning emotional chaos. She had no right to bring her problems into this family.
But Tommy was already running ahead, excited by the promise of horses.
It was too late to back out now.
Chapter Five
Alexis’s first impression of Carolina Lambert was that she was even more stunning in person than she looked in the newspapers. Simply dressed in a long, gored denim skirt and a white blouse, she moved and spoke with a charming grace that Alexis had seldom encountered before.
Carolina’s short brown hair curled about her heart-shaped face and her soft amber eyes lit up when she smiled. She had to be in her fifties, but she could have passed for younger had she not had three grown sons.
Aunt Sybil was older, perhaps mid-sixties. There were few wrinkles in her heavily made-up face, but she had fatty jowls that tugged her lips in a permanent expression of disapproval. And the infamous black wig did look a bit like a raven had landed and died on her head.