Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  Luke’s relaxed demeanor and candid expression opened the door for Holt. “Sheriff tell you I called about K.C. Riggs?”

  The deputy’s candor vanished under a shuttered gaze. “He might have mentioned it.”

  “Any particular reason Foley or you didn’t tell me about Riggs before?”

  Luke shrugged. “No point. Until we had some information, there was nothing to tell. He’s not a suspect. Officially.”

  “You had luck tracing him?”

  “Sent his description out. The sheriff telephoned Sonora, where Riggs told one of the hands he was going next.” He returned to his meal, biting into a chicken leg. “Too bad there’s no more to go on.”

  “Description’s not much help,” Holt mused. “Brown hair and eyes, medium build fits half the men in the country.” He laid his fork on his plate. Leaned forward. “What about the gun?”

  “Riggs’s rifle?” Luke snorted. “Hell, that’s even worse. Could’ve been a deer rifle for all I know. Slick’s the only one who saw the weapon. He couldn’t describe it worth shit.”

  Holt stirred around Espie’s Parmesan tomatoes that usually vanished into his stomach first thing. He jabbed his fork into a crispy chicken thigh. “Did he see a scope?”

  Chewing, the other man shook his head. “Even if we had this guy Riggs and his rifle, and he had opportunity, that still leaves motive.”

  That was the kicker. Why. The guarded aspect of Luke’s expression nagged at Holt. “Motive indeed. Like the sheriff said, everyone around here liked Rob.”

  Indecision rippled across Luke’s cool green eyes. He took his time chewing on his buttered roll. “Foley did say that. Fact is not everyone thought Rob walked on water. More than one caught the rough side of his temper.”

  “You one of them, Luke?”

  *****

  At nine o’clock that evening, Maddy flopped on the enveloping silk cushions of the blue and mauve living-room sofa. Pretty and comfy but much too frilly and delicate for the rustic ranch house. She stuffed one of the brocade throw pillows behind her back and propped her feet on the mesquite-wood cocktail table.

  They’d finished with the branding just before dark. All the calves endured their rite of passage and scampered to the meadow to mother up. After backslapping and handshakes all around, Luke and the other Circle-S cowboy loaded up the horse and left. Sean and Danny O’Grady collapsed bonelessly on hay bales, moaning they’d never be able to walk again. As soon as Holt waved paychecks at them, they kicked up their heels like colts in a pasture. Espie invited Bronc home to dinner, and to everyone’s surprise, he accepted.

  Maddy and Holt devoured the few leftovers for supper before she put Bobby to bed. Exhaustion engulfed every fiber of her body, but it was a good kind of tiredness, accompanied by the satisfaction of a job well done. Of participating in something permanent that went back generations, a ritual rooted in the soil as deeply as the surrounding mountains.

  Holt came in and stretched out at the other end of the sofa. He too had showered and changed. He wore clean Wranglers and a black tee shirt that proclaimed in red letters, “COWBOYS DO IT IN THE SADDLE.”

  Sandy hair frothed across the backs of his hands, and sinews defined his forearms. Maddy ogled his broad chest and narrow hips, but it was the intimacy of his bare feet and wet hair that had her swallowing hard.

  “I have to hand it to you.” Holt passed her a longneck.

  “You just did,” she quipped. “Thanks.” The cold brew bit and soothed at the same time. She sighed and sank lower into the cushions.

  “Smartass.” He slugged back a long swallow of beer. “Seriously, Maddy, you did great out there. Without your help, I might not have finished all those calves today. The cow herd is ready to go to the upper pasture anytime.”

  “Thanks. It was fun.” She shifted sideways and curled a leg beneath her. “Get back to what you were telling me about Luke. Did he and Rob have problems?”

  He wagged his head. “I still don’t know why Chris Hawke and Luke were shaking their horns at each other. What you said about that, ‘Cherchez la femme,’ applies here too.”

  “A woman? And Rob?”

  “Sara. Seems Luke went out with her a few times before Rob horned in. He let Luke know in no uncertain terms he better butt out.”

  She’d been thinking about Rob’s obsessive control over his wife. It was possible he was so controlling because of Maddy’s leaving. She shook off the question. No way to know. Would he have become so over-protective of her? She’d not have let him get away with smothering her, but apparently Sara didn’t mind. He seemed to have given in to her in other ways, indulging her whims and wishes. Jealousy of other men might’ve seemed the behavior of a loving husband to Sara, younger than Rob. But the other man—Luke or anyone else—reacting with murder? A stretch. She wouldn’t reveal any of those suppositions to Holt. He’d had enough shocks about his brother.

  “Not much of a motive for murder,” she finally said.

  “As a DEA agent, I’ve known people to kill for less.” He closed his eyes and leaned against the sofa. “But in this case, I agree. I don’t see Luke blowing Rob away—and Sara—because he’s warned off after a few dates. And he hasn’t the cash to hire out murder.”

  Sipping their beers, they sat in companionable, tired silence for a few moments.

  “You know, when I came home and started all this,” he said, his voice deep with intensity, “I never thought I’d be finding out things that made me ashamed of my brother.”

  She saw in his troubled gaze that he needed to cleanse the wounds Rob’s vagaries had made, air them before they’d heal. “You knew he had flaws—his temper, for one.”

  “And his obsession with you—with Sara too.” His jaw tightened, then eased. “My brother never really grew up, I reckon. I thought he’d learned to control his temper, but Luke implied Rob had alienated a few people around Rangewood.”

  He sat up straight and lowered his brows as he studied her face. “He never turned violent with you, did he? Abusive?”

  Maddy laid a hand on his knee. “He never touched me except in affection. He may have been controlling, a good-time Charlie who wanted things his way, but physically abusive, no. That’s something you don’t need to worry about. Don’t let yourself feel guilty for what you had no power over.”

  “So now you’re reading minds.” He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with hers.

  The rough, callused texture of his big hand shimmered heat up her arm and through her body. “No mind-reading involved. You’re a take-charge kind of guy. You pride yourself on being responsible for everything around you.”

  “I do that?” He shifted closer to her.

  “You always have.” She smiled, her heart squeezing at the sadness in his eyes. “You can’t fix everybody. People are too complex. He was your brother and you loved him. Find his killer if you can, but don’t feel ashamed that your loyalty doesn’t extend to blindness.”

  “So I should let the rest go, huh, doc?” He sent her a crooked grin that softened his rugged features.

  “At least don’t think you’re responsible for whatever faults Rob had.” She winked at him, and then yawned. “Now take two aspirin and call me in the morning—but not too early.”

  “Thanks, McCoy.” The tension in his jaw eased, and male awareness gleamed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Her pulse jumped. It would be so easy to lean into his kiss, to block out problems with a night of mindless sex. Would a man so in control of his emotions use that control to give and prolong pleasure?

  There lay inspiration.

  Or would the rein he kept on himself be so tight, so stretched that it snapped?

  And there lay temptation.

  And way too much risk.

  She placed her free hand on his chest. When she’d rather fist it in his shirt, breathe in his clean scent, and taste those sculpted lips, she pushed gently. “Whoa, boy. Things are already more complicated than a twin-
lens reflex.”

  He released her hand and slid his arms around her. “At this moment I don’t much care. What I want is damned simple.”

  “Holt, we—”

  Sharp tapping at the kitchen door stunned them both.

  Holt slumped. “Bronc must be back. I hope nothing’s happened to any of the calves.” He pushed to his feet and loped into the kitchen.

  Three louder, peremptory knocks brought Maddy to her feet as well. When she saw Edgar and Phyllis Patterson in the open doorway, tension knotted her stomach. Whatever they wanted, their visit meant trouble.

  Holt hung up their coats on the pegs by the door before ushering Bobby’s grandparents into the room. “Hour’s a little late for a social visit,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

  Phyllis shielded her matronly stomach with her clutch purse. Her green polyester pantsuit was smooth as armor, but disapproval gathered more wrinkles around her pursed lips than on the Wicked Witch of the West.

  If she didn’t have such a strong portent of disaster, Maddy would’ve smiled at the image. “If you’re worried about Bobby, you can go peek at him. He’s sound asleep.”

  Phyllis scurried down the hall, her low-heeled pumps clicking on the worn oak floor.

  Edgar Patterson had girded for battle in a charcoal gray business suit and a red power tie. He smoothed his wispy hair over his balding pate. “The county weekly came out this afternoon. The Rangewood Messenger contained some very disturbing news. Two days ago you two were shot at.”

  Holt had dreaded Patterson’s reaction to the news. How would the wily banker turn the situation to his advantage? He began to explain, but Patterson cut him off.

  “I know all about how it happened, young man. What disturbs me is what it means for the safety of my grandson.”

  “My nephew was perfectly safe. Is safe. He was here with Espie, not in the line of fire.” But he realized what worried the Pattersons was exactly what worried him—what might happen if the killer returned for another try. The same thought must have crossed Maddy’s mind, but thankfully she curbed any impulse to say so.

  When Phyllis returned to the room, Maddy said, “Let’s go sit in the living room. We’ll be much more comfortable.”

  The older couple took up positions on the sofa, and Holt and Maddy selected the opposite matching armchairs.

  With a scornful glance at the half-empty beer bottles on the table, Phyllis said, “My Sara picked out this furniture. She was a good girl, a steady girl, my Sara.” She plucked a tissue from her bag and dabbed at her nose.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Maddy scanned the room as if assessing the decor. “She had good taste.”

  The colors were all right, but not the puffy sofa and chairs. Or the silly pillows. Too flimsy-looking. The mesquite wood table was okay.

  “Just what’s your concern, Edgar?” Holt held himself still and composed, but his jaw ached, and double granny knots bound up his gut.

  Patterson cast his wife a sideways glance. “We have more than one. Bobby’s safety must come first and foremost, of course. Perhaps the shooting was merely a hunting accident. I have urged the sheriff to put his best men on the case.”

  “I appreciate that. An important man such as yourself can have more influence than I can.” Flattering the enemy never hurt your cause.

  The banker’s chest puffed out with self-importance. He nodded. “We have nothing personal against Ms. McCoy here—” he studiously avoided Maddy’s gaze “—but Phyllis and I have doubts about her reliability.” He went on to enumerate her failings—leaving Rob at the altar and traipsing the globe, the very history that made Holt doubt her.

  “I see you’ve done some checking on me.” Maddy kept her voice neutral and her expression blank, but a wash of red on her fine cheekbones stood out in relief against a pale-as-bone complexion.

  “I felt it was my obligation to know what sort of person was caring for my grandson.” He still addressed only Holt as if Maddy wasn’t there. “Instability is detrimental to a child’s growth and well-being. We intend to assure that the judge is cognizant of Ms. McCoy’s background, her penchant for, shall we say...flight.”

  “She ran away from one wedding. What’s to say she won’t do it again? Like the girl in that movie.” Patting her tight gray curls, Phyllis sent a dagger glance Maddy’s way.

  “It was eight years ago. I was young and unsettled. I’ve matured. I’ve changed.” It wasn’t surprising that Maddy could contain herself no longer. Her expression bordered on mutinous.

  “And the situation has changed.” Holt reached across the magazine rack between their chairs and clasped Maddy’s hand. When she held on tight, her trust reassured him. “Maddy’s made herself an integral part of the ranch as well as an important part of Bobby’s life. I trust her to stay.”

  At his hypocrisy, she dug her nails into his palm. If they were long instead of short and neat, she’d have drawn blood. He felt her eyes raking him, winced at their amethyst slice. Dammit. He didn’t trust her, but by God, he wished he could.

  “Be that as it may,” Patterson said, apparently unaware of the undercurrent, “we don’t trust her to stay, and neither will the judge.” Eyes as gray and cold as gunmetal, he stood and took his wife’s arm. “I can see we’re at an impasse here.”

  Since they’d already made up their minds about her, why did they come, other than to reassure themselves of Bobby’s safety? Holt had a nagging feeling the skirmish wasn’t over.

  In the kitchen, Patterson shrugged on his overcoat, then cleared his throat. “Finances can exacerbate instability in such a makeshift family. It would be a shame if the bank doubted your ability to repay the equity loan. The board might have to demand repayment early.”

  At the threat, Maddy exploded. She quivered with anger. “So that was the reason you came here tonight, to threaten Holt, you slimy—”

  “Don’t, Maddy.” Holt wished he could tell them exactly what he thought. Slimy was too fucking mild. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

  He turned to the Pattersons. “Bobby’s a Donovan, and he’ll be raised a Donovan. I take care of my own. From now on, I’ll bring Bobby to town for your visits. You’re not welcome on the Valley-D.”

  “Come, Edgar,” Phyllis said on an imperious sniff. “We’ll have our grandson out of this place soon enough.”

  “Have you heard?” Patterson straightened his shoulders for his final salvo. “Judge Gilbert set the court date for the custody hearing. May 26. You have two weeks. Then our grandson comes home with us. For good.”

  Chapter 17

  The nightmare plagued Maddy again that night. With a change. This time, when Rob’s ghost approached her, it was through a hail of bullets. When Bobby’s wail summoned her, she moaned a relieved thanks. Holt’s bedroom door stood open, his bed still made.

  After the Pattersons had left, she and Holt hashed over what to do, but resolved nothing. Stiff-backed, he’d stomped off to his room, saying he intended to go over the books. To find extra money for the loan. Nothing she could do to help with that.

  “But where is he now, pumpkin?” she asked the red-faced infant. “Bet I know. You mind a walk outside?”

  A few minutes later, carrying a freshly diapered and blanketed Bobby and his bottle, she trailed Holt out to the barn. “The light’s a dead giveaway,” she whispered.

  When she entered the tack room, Holt dropped the bridle he was mending and surged from the bench. “Something wrong with the baby?”

  “Bobby’s fine.” She sat on another low bench and arranged Bobby on her lap. “We were worried about you.” She spread the extra flap of blanket over her knees for warmth. Soon the comforting gurgles of the baby inhaling his bottle calmed both adults. A space unit in one corner heated the small room to a comfortable temperature.

  Holt picked up the abandoned bridle, a hackamore. He heaved a deep sigh. “After I went over the books, I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Could the bank really call in the loan early? That sounds f
ishy.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call Chris Hawke tomorrow to find out. There’s a clause in the loan agreement that might apply. Patterson’s a greedy son of a bitch, but setting up his daughter’s husband to lose his ranch would rank him lower than a snake’s belly.”

  “Can you pay?”

  “I’ve used up most of my savings keeping the place afloat as it is. I don’t like to sell cattle before they fatten up in the summer, but I may have to. If I unload a few head, it might be enough for a couple of payments, to show good faith, but no way can I pay off the balance.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It would set back my long-term goals.”

  “Oh?” She waited, her gaze on him, hoping he’d trust her enough to elaborate.

  “Not enough land here to make it a big-time beef herd. I’d like to have a breeding operation. That means keeping a small but prime herd of cow-calf pairs and a few top-of-the-line bulls. Building takes time and care. It doesn’t mean selling animals for a quick infusion of cash.”

  “What about Will Rafferty’s offer?”

  “You mean sell Ghost Mountain?”

  “Or the lease arrangement. Would that bring in enough to pay off the loan?”

  “The sale would. And then some.” His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head nearly between his knees as if the idea of selling land nauseated him. “I can’t do it. I can’t sell part of the ranch for any reason. It’s all I have left, all Bobby and I have.” When he raised his head, the pain in his gaze wrenched her nearly in two.

  She had investments, but he was too proud to accept what he’d see as charity, especially from her. Not worth even asking. “So that means selling cattle.”

  “Looks like it.” He fastened the last new leather piece in the hackamore. He cocked his head at her. “The custody suit worries me more. Patterson rode you pretty hard.”

  “Not anything you haven’t said yourself.” And worse. She propped Bobby on her shoulder. “I’m sorry my presence has made things worse for you. I only wanted to help.”