The Troubled Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  “No!” she said in a choked voice.

  “Why not? It’s evidence and the sooner we get it to Austin, the sooner we’ll get the results and know what we’re dealing with.”

  Rainey bit on her lip. “I’m just . . . just not sure if it’s a good idea. It will let more people know my alias. And they might put two and two together, causing trouble for Judith. Plus, we already know it’s from Hunter.” Her tone was firm yet he heard the apprehension in it.

  “No, Rainey, we don’t. There’s something odd about the whole letter. The words don’t seem right. Kinda contrived to throw you off and anybody else who you shared it with. particularly the officials at San Quentin.” He took a deep breath. “I just wish to hell the Internet would get fixed, so we could do some checking on the language. Maybe it means something.”

  It didn’t take her long to answer. “You’re right. Let’s sit on that tree trunk for a minute and rest.”

  After getting as comfortable as possible on the ancient cottonwood, she continued. “I know the words in my head somewhere but they aren’t ones that he’s previously written to me. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to see how it all fits together. The part about my green eyes and the fear in them is right, but the rest seems out of place, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “More of a reason to send it to Austin. They’re professionals and they won’t be lookin’ to investigate you. They’ll be performing tests to find out who sent the letter.”

  “Deuce, there’s probably so many sets of prints on it that they’ll never be able to match whatever they find intact enough to ID with anybody in the national data bank.”

  “But if we don’t send it, we’ll never know. Right?”

  She nodded, as false bravery settled on her face.

  “Plus, there’s always the chance that whoever sent it left their DNA if they were careless enough to lick the envelope to seal it.”

  After seeing the uncertainty on her face, he added, “Come here.” He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “I know you’re still scared but I’ll keep you safe. To get to you they’ve got to get through me first.”

  Hesitating for a moment, as though giving it more thought, she finally said, “You’re right.” She lifted her head and kissed him lightly on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Deuce felt a stirring deep inside, and he couldn’t resist tipping her chin and brushing his thumb along her jaw. “You don’t have to thank me. Only trust me.”

  Just the touch of her skin made the burning inside worse. She was so soft, with the faint scent of lavender mixed with a spring day in the country making him want to gather her in his arms and kiss her the way she deserved and not stop until he’d erased away all the hurt.

  Slowly, deliberately, he stroked her soft cheek, which glimmered with perspiration before again lifting her chin so they were eye to eye. Courage and fear laced with a look of serenity shone from her deep green eyes. It was hard for him to believe that he’d known her for so many years, yet only really got to know her over the last few weeks. A regular man could live a lifetime waiting for a woman like her. So why was he so hesitant in taking advantage of her coming back into his life?

  Desire fisted in his gut and his blood was near the boiling point as he continued to look at her. He wanted to taste her fully . . . and now, to see if she was everything he had been dreaming about. Everything he didn’t see in her growing up, except for a big heart. He’d always recognized that.

  Damn, it took every bit of courage he could conjure up to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her deep and hard, but instead he kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then he told her they needed to go back to the house, have some coffee, and get ready to get to the depot.

  In record speed Deuce and Rainey had downed a quick cup of coffee, showered, and were ready to leave for town.

  “You’re not dressed for work,” she said when he came downstairs.

  He looked up and noticed she was dressed to do some serious work at the depot.

  “No uniform,” he said. “Remember, I’m on vacation and plan on helping you today.”

  A thoughtful smile curved her mouth and her left eyebrow rose a fraction. “You look a little like John Wayne with your holster, gun, and badge. But his badge would have been on his vest, not his belt.” She reached over and pinched at his cheek like a mama might do a small child. “You look so cute.”

  When she turned to pick up her purse, he almost patted her on her cute butt, although he caught himself in time.

  Enjoying the smell of fresh cut hay he drove them into town.

  Stopping in front of the sheriff’s department, he called and had Danny meet him outside, where he could keep an eye on Rainey, who remained in the car.

  After he gave his chief deputy the letter, he raised an eyebrow at the clean-shaven man and said, “Nice job and I’m puttin’ money on the fact you didn’t do it yourself.”

  “You’d win,” Danny said and went back inside.

  Once Deuce and Rainey arrived at the depot, she quickly unlocked the door and rushed behind the counter to disarm the security system. “Want a drink?” she hollered.

  “Sure.”

  Something on the floor caught his eye . . . an envelope. He picked it up and with Rainey busy getting them canned drinks, he had a chance to look it over.

  Deuce’s stomach tightened in knots.

  Quickly he grabbed a quart-size zip-top bag Rainey had bought for paintbrushes and slipped the envelope inside. Folding the plastic bag in half, he stuck it in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his T-shirt back in place.

  Afraid to breathe, he closed his eyes, but could still see the envelope in his mind.

  Identical to the first one . . . postmarked San Quentin, California, 94964.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Deuce took a deep breath and hoped he could get the letter in his chief deputy’s hands before Rainey discovered the bulge in his pants . . . not anything like the one he seemed to be having way too often.

  Rainey placed two cans of soft drinks on the cabinet. “Sorry it took me so long, but I went to the back and got some plastic to cover the floor. The paint is premixed and Gideon said that if we use it right away it won’t have to be stirred again.” She stopped and stared at the high vaulted ceiling. “I wish we could paint up there, too.”

  “And lose its historical value? No way. This is a decades-old train station and those ceiling tiles should be preserved.” Deuce found himself folding his arms across his stomach whenever he talked with her, so she couldn’t see the outline of the envelope, which had slipped farther down inside his Levi’s.

  “You’re right. It’d be a shame to ruin them. So many places have destroyed landmarks when with only a little work they could be saved.” She squatted down, moved two paint pans near a gallon of paint and picked up a church key to open the container. “Plus, I’d have to hire a paint contractor who has special equipment to do the job.”

  Man, did he ever enjoy watching her firm, and oh, so touchable butt again, although that was farther down his list of problems than he would like. Right now his priority was to figure out a way to get to his office without Rainey being suspicious. Leaving her alone was out of the question, so he needed someone he trusted to watch over her without her knowledge.

  “While you’re doing that I need to make a call.” He hoped she’d presume he was checking in at the department.

  Meandering out of earshot, he placed a call to the first person he thought of and one who had befriended Rainey. The post office closed at noon on Saturday, so hopefully Sylvie would be free to lend a hand without asking why.

  It didn’t take much persuasion to get the postmistress to agree to help paint as soon as she got off work. He then lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Sylvie, did you deliver any mail to the depot?”

  “Yes. And why are you whispering?”

  “I’m not. I guess it’s the paint fumes. What kind of mail?” He ke
pt one eye peeled for Rainey.

  “A regular business envelope and a piece of mail addressed to current occupant. I knew she’d want the envelope since it was like the one she got a couple of days ago. When her car wasn’t there, I just slipped it under the door. Got a customer. See you in a little while.” She hung up without saying anything further.

  Deuce glanced towards the entrance and sure enough in all his haste in getting the envelope from San Quentin out of sight he’d overlooked a piece of junk mail. He’d continue to ignore it for the time being.

  Footsteps coming his way gave him sufficient warning to put on his game face and he tried to, the best he knew how.

  “Are you going to help or stand around pretending to be one of the huge pillars, thinking I wouldn’t notice?” Her smile deepened into laughter, as she stood there with a paint tray filled with light taupe paint threatening to overflow in her hands and two paint rollers tucked under her arm.

  “Okay, so you caught me.” He put his phone on the counter and picked up a plastic tarp. “Which wall first?”

  “Let’s start behind the counter since there’s already some plastic on the floor.” She put down the tray and both rollers and eyed the swatch she’d made on the wall earlier. “They called this ‘buckskin,’ but I’d call it ‘butt naked.’” She laughed again and he swore it made her look ten years younger.

  “You mean ‘buck naked.’”

  “No, butt naked.” She shot him a look that smoldered with fire.

  Deuce joined in on her jovial mood. “Okay, then the paint is hereby officially known as ‘butt-naked tan.’”

  She gave the paint sample another look. “Come here, butt naked,” she addressed the paint on her roller and began working on the lower part of the wall.

  “I’m going to put down a tarp on the south side so we don’t get in each other’s way.” He grabbed another package of plastic and opened it. He couldn’t help but think back to the night she stood beside the hot tub, the closest to being buck naked that he’d ever seen a woman who was fully clothed.

  Taking the loose end of the tarp, he whipped it through the air to unfold like he’d seen his mother do every time she put fresh sheets on the bed.

  The sound echoed off the nearly empty rotunda similar to an unexpected clap of thunder.

  A scream came from Rainey and echoed through the air much like the whip of the plastic had done.

  Deuce rushed to her. He gathered her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Promise.” She shook as if a bolt of lightning had just hit her.

  He pulled her closer to him and she hid her face in his shoulder. Once she stopped shaking, she pulled her head back and he saw eyes rimmed with tears. With his thumb he wiped away a single tear that rolled over her cheek.

  “I’m the one to apologize, not you.” She sniffed lightly. “I was so engrossed in what I was doing and wondering if the color was right that the noise caught me off guard.”

  “Come on.” He took her hand and guided her to one of the folding chairs. “I need to talk to you about something. Have you thought about the possibility that you’re suffering from PTSD with everything you’ve gone through?” He watched carefully for any response and saw what he interpreted as relief come over her face.

  Although he’d considered the possibility that she had been experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder, saying the words out loud caused a cold knot to form in his stomach.

  He didn’t even realize he held his breath until he exhaled.

  To his dismay her voice broke slightly as she answered. “I have.” She laid her hands flat on the table. “As an ADA, I had to attend a course on PTSD. Actually, it was a requirement after the Hunter trial.”

  “From what I saw that was a good call. I read in the newspaper that they had counselors on the scene of the murders for the first responders.”

  “They did.” She looked up at him and he knew full well that the memories were flooding back to her.

  “We’ve taken courses, too. I’ve witnessed you dealing with what they’re calling re-experiencing of the traumatic event. The memories, flashbacks, nightmares, and even now a simple loud noise made you jump out of your skin, scaring you to death. I’ve seen you avoid people, try to turn inside of yourself.” He took her hand in his, forcing her to look up at him. “I’ve seen or heard all of it, but it’s the other things that I couldn’t hear or see that scares the hell out of me.”

  Rainey looked him squarely in the eyes. “You’re very astute and know how to read people very well.” She turned her hand over and gripped his. “Sometimes I think my heart is going to pound out of my chest and I sweat for no reason, especially when the memories flood back. I have been avoiding interaction with people, letting mistrust and anger be my norm. I hate to admit it but I know I’ve been depressed and let the guilt and shame rule me.”

  “Will you do me a favor, just to patronize me if nothing else, but let me ask Allura for the name of a therapist that specializes in PTSD? I don’t have to tell her who I’m wantin’ it for because it could be for a number of people in my line of duty.”

  She bit her lip and took a long time before answering. “Yes. I’ll do it for you.” Suddenly, as if a good memory surfaced, an almost hopeful glint came to her eyes. “The only thing I’ve found that makes me happy is you so I can’t say no.”

  “You’re making me happy by allowing me the privilege of helping you.”

  Deuce slipped his hand out of hers, stood, and walked around the table where he took both of her hands in his and brought her up to meet him, planning on giving her a supporting hug.

  In a soft whisper she said, “Kiss me, Deuce.”

  Not waiting for a second invitation, his mouth crashed down on hers. He kissed her deep, hard, and fast with all the hunger that had been building inside of him since the moment he stopped her for speeding on Main Street. Rainey parted her lips and he drove deeper still. Her lips were softer than he had imagined. He knew he’d never get enough of her sweetness. He thought he’d go crazy when her tongue began to tangle with his, and he let out a soft groan. He felt as if his heart had just opened and she had walked in. Although he knew they were treading water, he couldn’t stop himself. He pulled away and asked, “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as this.” She left no question in her answer when she pressed her mouth against his.

  Her kiss was slower than his, like that of a seductress with a hunger that made him wish he’d never called Sylvie. But that thought was quickly replaced with Rainey moving her tongue slowly along his lower lip.

  The heat from her body pressed against him made him lose all of his determination as savage heat and hunger ravaged his body. He wanted her and wanted her here and now . . . not tonight but in the depot in the middle of the day.

  As much as he hated it, he had no choice but to pull away and put her at arm’s length. He couldn’t take the chance of her discovering the letter stuck in his waistband.

  Having to stop gave him another reason to despise the callous bastard sending her the letters.

  “Sweetheart, this isn’t the time or place.” He pressed a kiss to her waiting lips. “I want our first time together to be something special.” Eying the orange sleeping bag in the corner he continued, “And a sleeping bag on concrete isn’t special.”

  Kissing her on both cheeks, he stepped back about the same time as knocking began on the front door.

  Rainey grabbed the neck of her blouse and Deuce wished he had an apron on to cover his arousal.

  “This isn’t over,” Rainey whispered as she rushed to the front door, leaving Deuce to decide whether he should hide behind the counter for a few minutes until his need wasn’t as visual or to stand there and let Sylvie know his less-than-honorable intentions. Not to mention he’d lose his help for the day because the town crier would run, not walk from business to business alerting them to his condition. He quickly turned to the wall, picked up the paintbrush and beg
an to work.

  Behind him he heard multiple footsteps and turned to see Sylvie leading a band of citizens through the door. So far he’d counted Sylvie, Gideon, Winnie, and Clara, but suspected there might be more behind them. Each carried a covered dish, tea jugs, and both Clara and Winnie had a cake carrier in their arms. He could bet a dollar to a donut that each toted a chocolate cake. Behind them, Winnie’s husband, Stanley, pushed a cart loaded with plates, cups, a huge bucket of ice, and a tub filled with flatware and condiments. An employee of the catering business brought in a six-foot-long table and set it up.

  Sylvie placed her serving dish on the card table before speaking. “We heard you needed help to finish painting so I called in reinforcements.”

  Winnie was next to speak. “When Stan and I heard about it, I called Clara and we decided to fix lunch for everybody. Nothing’s too good for our newest resident.” She turned to Rainey. “And one of my best customers.” She placed her Tupperware cake carrier on the table. “And here’s my famous Mrs. Grooms’s Chocolate Cake.”

  Clara sidled up next to her. “And here’s my Pumpkin’s Famous Chocolate Cake.”

  No doubt Clara and Winnie were staking their territories just like the Hatfields and the McCoys. There was always the chance of a smack down whenever those two women got together.

  “We brought barbeque, potato salad, and cole slaw,” Clara added.

  “I came to paint,” Stan said as he picked up a brush and began to work.

  “Me, too,” Clara said.

  Giving Rainey a light kiss on the forehead Deuce whispered, “Now that you’ve got plenty of help, I’m going over to my office and check on things.”

  “You’re on vacation,” she whispered back.

  “Never on a real one unless I leave town.” He grabbed his phone from the counter. “I promise we’ll finish what we started when this place is ready for shelves and gondolas.”

  “You promise if Clara and Winnie start a fistfight over their cakes you’ll send someone immediately?” She laughed and gave him an amused wink.