The Troubled Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  Rainey heaved herself from the floor and checked the lock on the door twice, then double-checked the security system to make sure it was set. She even went to where the old freight doors once stood and checked that the locks were secure.

  Pulling the sleeping bag into the corner, she lay down. Using her sweater for a pillow, she curled up and tightened into the fetal position. She lay there for hours wishing she would hear from Deuce. She made sure her cell phone was within arm’s length and prayed he’d call, so she could tell him what had happened. That her fears were real. She needed to tell him the full story. All she had told him was about the threats Hunter had made in the courtroom. She hadn’t confessed that she’d been receiving death threats from him through the prison system.

  Comfort set in knowing Deuce would understand.

  Morning light peered through the high windows of the depot, waking Rainey. She’d gotten little sleep and when she sat up, dizziness made her nauseated.

  Rubbing her aching neck, she figured it’d be days before the pain from sleeping on the cold, hard floor would go away. The nightmares had come fast and furious, never allowing her to have a moment’s peace. It was as if she had drunk a fifth of whiskey the way she felt. Probably not eating and drinking only a couple of cups of coffee and a Diet DP the day before contributed to her feeling so badly.

  In the bathroom, she washed her face, knowing she had to do something besides lie in her own fright. She had always been a confident woman, so just the thought of spending the night curled up in a corner fearing for her life wasn’t in her DNA. Her father would be furious with her for acting like a four-year-old afraid of the big bad wolf. The person looking back at her in the mirror certainly wasn’t the self-assured, go where angels feared to tread woman she’d always been.

  She would not allow some degenerate to frighten her to death, but how could she not? The unknown was scarier to her than Alonzo Hunter.

  In the distance, she heard her cell phone ring. Rushing to retrieve it, she nearly tripped over a mop bucket but got there before the call reached her default voice mail. She looked at the caller ID. Trying to add confidence she didn’t feel in her voice, she answered, “Hello.”

  To her surprise, Deuce bombarded questions at her like fireworks on the Fourth of July. “Are you okay? Where are you? Did you sleep at the depot instead of the ranch?”

  “Mr. Sheriff, I know you have a detail on me, so they should have the answers,” she replied wryly.

  “Damn it to hell, for once just answer my question,” he barked. Then he softened his voice a bit before saying, “If you’re in the depot, let me in. I’m outside.”

  She hoped her relief at hearing from the sheriff didn’t show in her voice because she didn’t want to give him an advantage over her fragile thinking. “Give me time to turn off the alarm and I’ll unlock the door.”

  In less than thirty seconds, she faced Deuce Cowan, who pushed past her as if he were the one making the lease payments on the building. She figured in true fairness, since he trusted her with his house on the ranch, he could barge in her business any time he pleased.

  “You look like hell. And probably didn’t get a wink of sleep by the look of your eyes.” His mouth was tight and grim and a muscle flicked at his jaw. “I know you think because you’re an attorney you can outwit anybody, but that doesn’t happen every time. Tell me what is going on.” His brows furrowed as if to say I’ll know if you are lying to me. “There’s something wrong, so don’t even try to pull the wool over my eyes.”

  Rainey couldn’t bear to see the stern look on Deuce’s face another second, so she turned toward the card table. “Let’s sit down. I have something to show you.” She got the letter from the counter, along with two gloves, and placed them on the table. “This came yesterday.”

  After confirming that the letter hadn’t arrived in the plastic wrap, Deuce picked up the envelope and looked at the return address and postmark through the plastic. He narrowed his eyes slightly and his jaw clenched tighter. “Damn it to hell, doesn’t anybody at San Quentin censor his mail? I thought everything was read before it’s mailed.”

  “Like any other business, they have a lot of inmates and with the state cutting costs they probably don’t have enough mail room employees to do more than scan them. Inmates know how to circumvent the procedure using outside sources. That’s how they determined the threatening letters I received got through the system.” She took a deep breath. “Only mail sent to their attorney is confidential and cannot be read.”

  “Wait a minute.” For a tanned, outdoorsy face, Deuce’s turned somewhat pale. “You didn’t tell me about any letters, just that he’d threatened you in the courtroom.”

  “Deuce, I didn’t know who to trust, so I kept that to myself. I figured if someone brought up any of the contents, it’d give me a clue as to who on the outside was behind them.” The next comment was hard for her to admit. “I think that his outside person might be the sonofabitch I got the car and my new ID from.” She should have been ashamed of using unladylike profanity, but the words came out without her even realizing it. “Maybe when I had to get a replacement insurance card someone there notified him. I don’t know what to think or who to trust.”

  “You know you can trust me.” Deuce jerked off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  Deuce plopped the hat back on as if gathering his thoughts. “So what else haven’t you told me?”

  “That’s everything, Deuce. . . .” She trailed off, trying to decide whether to fess up about not being a widow, but decided this wasn’t the time nor the place. She’d have plenty of opportunities to tell him later.

  “Okay,” Deuce said. “I need to digest this, so let’s go to the ranch and I’ll read the letter, but I’ve got a call to make first.”

  He eyed her in such a way that she figured he didn’t believe her . . . and he had every right to do so. But she’d tell him the full truth at the ranch, not the depot.

  “That’s fine. Let me get my purse.”

  Deuce made a quick call to Danny at the sheriff’s department and told him to come pick up Rainey’s Chevy and put it in the impound yard, because she’d be riding with him out to the ranch and he didn’t want it left at the depot.

  After disconnecting, Deuce said, “As soon as Danny gets here, we’ll leave, so if there’s anything you need until we can figure this out, be sure to bring it.” He looked at her with clear, observant eyes, while putting the letter in his pocket. “I’ll keep this for the time being.”

  As much as Rainey hated being dictated to, she was comforted to have someone else making the decisions for her. Although she needed to work at the depot to get it ready so she could begin locating shelving and antiques, reality told her that the ranch was the safest place for her. At least for the time being.

  A no-nonsense knock rattled the door.

  “Must be Danny.” Deuce motioned for her to give him her car keys. “I don’t think you’ve met him.”

  Rainey followed the sheriff and stood beside him while the deputy identified himself and Deuce unlocked the door.

  When she saw the deputy, panic worse than anything she’d experienced over the last twelve hours or so swept over her. She remembered screaming as Deuce caught her in his arms.

  “What the hell,” he said.

  Steadied by the sheriff, once she caught her breath, she said, “That’s him, Deuce.” She had to force herself to open her eyes, scared to death of what she’d see, but she finally did. “He’s the man who was watching me at the café.”

  “Rainey, that’s my chief deputy, Danny Scott.” He settled her in a chair, then turned to the deputy. “Damn it to hell, I’ve told you a dozen times to get that damn hair cut and a shave. You haven’t been working undercover for weeks.” His jaw clenched. “So get it done . . . now!”

  Danny looked sheepish and a tad frightened of the sheriff at the same time. “Deuce, I’ll have it off by to
morrow, if I have to cut it myself.”

  “You damn well better,” said Deuce. “Don’t let me see you lookin’ that way again, you hear?” He obviously wasn’t asking a question but making a strong statement to his deputy.

  The deputy nodded.

  “Hellfire and brimstone! Why in name’s sake were you looking in the window of the café?” Deuce’s clear as ice water words left no room for discussion.

  The deputy turned to Rainey. “Ma’am, I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’d helped Deuce out on some of the investigation on you, so I wanted to see you for myself.” He looked up at his boss, then back at her. “I probably shouldn’t have done it, but I threw on a hooded sweatshirt so if I ran into Deuce he wouldn’t be too mad at me because I hadn’t found time to get cleaned up. I started to come into the café, but when I saw Deuce, I backed out.” He glanced back up at Deuce, as if to say he knew he’d been pushing the envelope on keeping his scraggly look, while at the same time asking for forgiveness.

  So, Mr. Sheriff, you’ve been investigating me!

  Obviously, he’d done so before he had seen the news conference on television. No wonder he was so quick to explain away who she was—or rather was not—the missing DA from Los Angeles.

  She should be mad as a rattler with a toothache, but she couldn’t find herself being angry with Deuce for doing his job. If he hadn’t checked her out, then he wouldn’t have been executing the law he’d sworn to uphold—protecting the town’s citizens. Instead of being upset, she forced herself to admire him as a lawman.

  Finally taking control of her thoughts, Rainey softly said, “What’s done, is done. It’s okay. Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have overreacted.” She looked straight into Deuce’s face.

  Deuce picked up the Chevy keys and tossed them to Danny. “It’s to stay there until I personally release it. If anybody asks about it, just tell them to see me. End of discussion.”

  Rainey sensed a tad of rebellion coming from the look on the deputy’s face, but he simply said, “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as Deputy Scott was out of earshot, Rainey lashed out at Deuce. “I know you didn’t investigate me after you saw Judith’s news conference, so that means you started when I first got in town. That’s dirty pool,” She said with easy defiance. “You asked me what other secrets I’ve kept from you . . . well, Mr. Lawman, I damn sure could ask you the same thing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In short order, Deuce had gotten Rainey settled into his black-and-white, then drove by the sheriff’s department impound lot to make sure her Malibu was there. To his surprise, Danny had almost hidden it from view. Smart deputy! He only wished the man were sharp enough to get the message about cutting his hair, but then credit where credit was due—he was certainly smart enough to serve on the special crimes task force.

  They passed under Interstate 40 and caught the Farm to Market Road that would take them to the road leading onto Slippery Elm ranch land. To the east, a wind farm came in view, while to the west a herd of Herefords grazed in a lush green field.

  Rainey was the first to break the silence. “Your deputy seems very nice.”

  “He is, but frustrates me at times.” He shook his head. “Sorry you had to hear our exchange, but it’s been weeks since he came off of an undercover assignment and I think he really just wanted to see how far he could push me with the hair.” He glanced over at Rainey, knowing the truth was that he was simply furious with Danny for scaring the living hell out of her more than any haircut. “It really pissed me off when I found out he was the one who had scared you at the café.”

  “I was being sincere when I accepted his apology. I should have never been that edgy where he’d scared me in the first place. You said he’d just finished an undercover assignment. I would think in a town as small as Kasota Springs he couldn’t pull it off without being made.”

  “It wasn’t in Kasota, but he’s on a multicounty major crimes task force, and with his naturally seedy-lookin’ eyes, even when he’s cleaned up, he’s a natural for the job.” Deuce chuckled. “Not to make light of it, but he fooled you.”

  For the first time in a lot of days, he heard her laugh like she was enjoying herself.

  As they turned onto Deuce’s ranch land, she asked, “You said the Jacks Bluff is on one side of you, so who owns the spread next to yours?”

  “We’re pretty much surrounded by the Jacks Bluff, but the Sullivan Ranch is on the other side of the road, although it winds around a little.”

  “I remember the Jacks Bluff as stock contractors. Everybody in Texas did. Is it still in the LeDoux family?”

  “Yep, sure is. Five generations. Came about when this part of Texas was settled around 1875 or so.” He kept his eyes on the road, watching for any wayward cattle that had broken through the fence, although he doubted he’d see any. His foreman was very good at his job, and Deuce was fortunate to have wrangled him away from a much bigger operation.

  “I met a couple of the LeDoux girls, years ago. One was a Johnson I think, but can’t remember her first name.”

  “McCall,” Deuce added.

  “That’s right, and the other one was a LeDoux. I remember her name because it was so unusual. Mesa—Mesa LeDoux. What happened to them?”

  “McCall married a rich dude out in California.”

  “A tycoon, he’d be called in Texas, huh?”

  “Yeah, and that he is. Mesa is still single and lives on the ranch. She runs a horse rescue center out there, but they’re out of the rough stock contracting business.”

  “I think I met them at the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. My father was a dignitary of some sort and introduced us. They were there with their grandmother. A genuine true Texas lady but with an ‘I don’t give a rusty rat’s ass what others think’ attitude.” Again Rainey laughed and pleased Deuce that the small talk was relaxing her.

  “Granny Johnson, as she’s fondly known in these parts, is just that but it’s their long-time housekeeper, Lola Ruth Hicks, who rules the roost on the Jacks Bluff.”

  “I think I remember some of the history. They’re one of the biggest, if not the biggest, in the area. The founder Jack or was it John LeDoux—”

  “Jack, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Then Jack won the ranch in a game of chance with four jacks and that’s where it got its name.”

  “You’re right as rain.”

  They passed alongside an arroyo before Deuce’s house came into sight.

  “We’re home.” He couldn’t believe he said that as if they shared the house as a couple, instead of her being more of a person in protective custody.

  Once inside, he locked up his Glock, then took the plastic wrapped envelope out of his pocket and put it in his desk drawer.

  It’s now evidence and nobody will touch it except me and the crime lab.

  He gave Rainey time to settle in and then said, “I know it’s early, but why don’t you go take a nice long bath while I fix something to eat.” He smiled at her, remembering his words to his deputy. “And this is not open for discussion.”

  “Yes, sir.” She saluted. “For once I totally agree with you.” She got up from the couch and headed towards the stairs. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “And don’t forget to fry up some of those livers in the fridge for Fat-Cat. I think he missed me fixin’ them last night.”

  Deuce didn’t respond. With his back to Rainey, he made a face at the big tomcat stretched out on the sofa where she had been sitting.

  On his way to the kitchen, Deuce pulled out his phone and called the office.

  Danny answered, but Deuce started to talk almost before the deputy finished identifying himself. “Do me a favor and make a quick call to the warden at San Quentin and verify that Alonzo F. Hunter hasn’t been moved.” He waited for his chief deputy to respond, then added, “Text it to me, don’t call. Just confirm and if need be use my name to get the information. Regardless of what you have to do, and you’re a resourceful lawman, get the
confirmation for me tonight.” Deuce hesitated before adding, “And about your hair and beard. I know I’ve had you tied up with other stuff, and I realize if you get called out on another assignment a newly grown beard is a dead giveaway that you’re working undercover, so just do what’s best for you and the task force.”

  Deuce hung up and walked across the kitchen with the letter Rainey gave him heavy on his mind. After dinner, when he was calmer, he’d read it.

  In some way, although he’d been thrown into some very uncomfortable, dangerous, and right out nasty situations in law enforcement, he wasn’t certain he had what it took to read the letter, not just because it came from a deranged killer, but because he had seen for himself what it had done to Rainey. Even reading online the accounts of the murders Hunter had perpetrated had made Deuce sick to his stomach and he’d had trouble sleeping that night and the night afterwards. He couldn’t even imagine what she’d gone through prosecuting the case.

  Right now he’d best get his mind back to fixin’ supper and taking care of Rainey and that dern tomcat. Almost having to hold his nose at the thought of cutting up and frying livers for an animal, Deuce went about the task of feeding the tom that seemed to be in Deuce’s way every time he made a step.

  In the refrigerator, he found a small casserole and a couple of plastic containers with food in them that had been left by his foreman’s wife. The note taped on top stated the main dish was a King Ranch casserole and gave him cooking instructions. She had also left cooked broccoli and cauliflower in a cheese sauce and a small mixed salad.

  He had just finished placing Fat-Cat’s empty feeding dish in the sink when he smelled the light scent of lavender. Looking up, he saw Rainey standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, does that ever smell good.” With a sensual smile, she walked over to the stove and lifted the lid on the veggy dish. “Now don’t tell me you cooked all of this yourself.”