“I’ll send Hunter over to feed your horses tomorrow.” Dad closed his door.
Before she could tell him she could take care of her animals, the rumble of an engine drew her attention down the driveway. Her heart jumped at the sight of the black Silverado's driver.
“Doesn’t he know you have to rest?” Mom twisted her lips into a frown.
Her father chuckled and pocketed his keys. “I don’t think he’s here for work, Frannie.”
Wyatt parked behind the Explorer. As he stepped out of the truck, he put his black Resistol on his head. From the looks of his leather vest and star pinned to it, he’d been working. He glanced around and seemed as much at a loss as to what he was doing there as she was. “Hey.”
“Hi. What’s going on?”
He glanced around again and walked toward her. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t rush off to work. Tilly and I have things covered, so you take as many days off as you need.”
She folded her arms and shifted her weight onto her right leg. “We have a murderer to catch.”
“You have to rest,” her mother chimed in. “You heard Dr. Forsyth. No work for at least three days.”
Dawn glared at her and headed toward her front door. “Okay. So, let’s go in. Then y’all can get out of my hair and I’ll rest.”
Wyatt grinned, causing her tummy to tumble over itself. “I’m here to make sure you do.”
Her mother took her arm as if she needed help walking. “How did you know she was out of the hospital?”
Wyatt shrugged and looked as sheepish as a little boy caught red-handed with his fingers in the cookie jar before supper. “Tilly told me when she was going to be discharged. So, I left the station in time to meet y’all here.”
He’d go through all that trouble? “You know that could be considered stalking?”
“Are you going to arrest me, Sheriff?” Wyatt grinned, moving in beside her, and put his hand on the small of her back.
She shivered, but covered the action by scowling at him. “I should.”
Her dad smirked and took her mom’s hand. “C’mon, Fran. I think Wyatt can take it from here.”
Mom glared at Dad. “I’m not leaving until I know she’s settled.”
Dawn shook her head as she climbed the steps of the porch and immediately stopped when she noticed the door ajar. “Dad, was Hunter or Talon over here this morning?”
“Hunter fed your horses, but he wouldn’t have gone inside.” Dad came up beside her. “And when your mom and I stopped by last evening to pick up a change of clothes for you, we made sure to lock up.”
Wyatt let go of her as he reached under his vest and pulled his Colt out of his shoulder holster. Her mother gasped at the sight of the gun and took Dawn’s hand to keep her from going inside.
Wyatt nodded toward her dad, who positioned himself in front of her and Frannie, then pulled the Glock he’d carried since his days as sheriff. As Wyatt slowly pushed the door open with his Colt at the ready, he stepped inside. “Oh, damn…”
Dad moved inside with Wyatt. “What the hell happened here?”
“What?” Dawn shook off her mother’s hand and entered her door. Everywhere she looked broken pieces of her life lay on the floor. The couch where she and Wyatt had sex was ripped and smashed into unrecognizable tatters. Her beautiful Cherokee and Comanche paintings, broken and cut, lay like confetti on the white fluff of the couch like in a bed of snow. Her handmade afghan her grandmother had woven for her was torn and frayed. The end tables and TV shattered as if beaten with a sledgehammer.
With a whimper, she entered the kitchen. The bright pottery dishes she’d collected over the years littered the floor in colorful shards. Even the cabinet doors weren’t spared in the small kitchen. Most of them were torn from their hinges and broken in half or splintered on the tile floor she’d laid herself when she pulled out the linoleum after she’d bought the trailer.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Her mother sobbed. Dawn wrapped her arm around her waist, glad she could lean on her mom. “Look at the refrigerator.”
Dawn turned and gasped. Big, black blocky letters filled the white door. They said, The next time you won’t be so lucky, bitch.
“The bedroom looks as bad as it does out here.” Putting away his gun, Wyatt waded through the debris in the living room from the direction of her room. He stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.
She pulled her gaze away from the warning and met his narrowed eyes. “What do we do now?”
Mom wiped away tears. “That settles it. You’re coming home with us.”
“No.” Dawn leaned against the wall. She needed to sit down, but her dining chairs resembled kindling. “I can’t stay with you.”
“Nonsense.” Her mother sniffed and put her hands on her hips. “Someone wants to hurt you. We can make room for you.”
“We can’t risk putting Talon’s little girl in danger.” Dawn blinked at the stinging in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry in front of her parents and Wyatt.
“She’s right.” Her dad wiped over his mouth with the back of his shaky hand. She’d never seen him so rattled. He pointed to the fridge door. “Whoever this is, isn’t messing around. This place is turned upside down and inside out. You hit a nerve, and you have to keep hitting it, but you need to be safe.”
Mom gestured around the room. “Exactly! And we can keep her safe.”
She fought the panic threatening to overtake her by replacing it with frustration at being talked about in the third person while standing right there.
“Dawn will stay with me.”
She snapped her gaze to Wyatt. Surely, he didn’t mean…
“I think it would be the best for everyone, don’t you?” His eyes burned with an intensity she didn’t recognize.
Would it be possible to live with him and not end up in his bed?
* * * *
Wyatt called the sheriff’s station to alert them about the break in. He marveled at Dawn’s strength as she picked through her ripped and shattered belongings to determine if anything had been stolen. But then, he’d have been more surprised if she’d broken down and cried.
Her parents stood by and watched with concern and sorrow etched on their faces.
Unable to stand by and do nothing but wait for Tilly to show up, he made his way back down the short hallway to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. Dawn sat on the floor amidst the broken furniture and the debris of her clothing. The damned thugs hadn’t been satisfied with just ripping her stuff. They made sure she’d never reuse any of her clothes by dumping motor oil over them. The pungent odor burned his throat when he took a deep breath and entered the room.
She must not have heard him as she rummaged through what looked like torn bits of photos. The sob that broke loose as she picked up a dark black and white scrap of a picture had him stopping behind her.
“No.” She shook her head and shifted through the bits of old pictures faster. “Damn them!”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Dawn?”
She let out another sob and tears streaked her face as she fitted the jagged pieces together on her lap. The distinct fuzzy image of a sonogram took shape as she found another scrap. “Why couldn’t they leave it alone?”
The shock of her words had him letting go of her shoulder and stepping back. He stared down at the grainy, ripped photo and a plethora of emotions hit him in the gut like a roundhouse kick--anger, pain, and betrayal were the first, but then surprise and sorrow slipped through. Had she cared enough for their baby to keep the sonogram photo? Of all the things Dawn possessed, was the only thing she cried over a fuzzy picture of a child never born?
He looked away and took a deep breath. “Dawn… I’m…” What could he say?
With a sniff, she shook herself as if trying to get her emotions under their usually tight control. She stood, then wiped her eyes as she faced away from him. “Sorry. I think all of this has got
ten to me.”
“Tilly and Deputy Grant are out here,” Tom called from the living room.
She cleared her throat and limped out of the room, all traces of the emotion she’d displayed completely gone. “Thanks, Dad. C’mon, let’s go figure out who would do this to me.”
Wyatt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe she didn’t care that much about the baby after all. He couldn’t bear looking at the torn photo on the floor. Turning away from the room, he followed her out into the living room.
What the hell had he been thinking by insisting she stay with him?
* * * *
The sun was setting by the time she left her shambled home. The investigation was still going on, but when Wyatt saw her take a bunch of ibuprofen for her various pains, he insisted they leave. Her mother wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but Dawn couldn’t put her family in danger. Someone was out to get her, which meant she was getting close to figuring out the identity of the murderer. Her dad and brothers had taken her six horses back to his barn. Mom packed up some of her own clothes for Dawn to borrow until she was able to buy a new wardrobe.
God, her head hurt. She rubbed her temples as Wyatt pulled into his driveway.
He parked the truck beside the white clapboard two-story. “You shouldn’t have stayed there so long.”
She looked out the window at the big, old farmhouse. One day she wanted a place like this built on her share of the ranch. A home where she could raise a family.
Right. She had to find a man first. An impossible feat since she didn’t even date.
The opening passenger door startled her. Wyatt held out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”
She shifted out of the seat but ignored his hand. “So, you’re all moved in?”
He shut the door and took the bag her mother had packed from the back of the truck. “Mostly. I don’t have much, so it didn’t take long to move in.”
She followed him up the steps to the wide wraparound porch. “You know you don’t have to do this. I can find a place in town. Or stay at the station until I can get my place cleaned up.”
He unlocked the door and opened it, but waited for her to enter. “Nonsense. I have the room and you need--”
“Don’t you dare say protection. I’m the damned sheriff, and I know how to take care of myself.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked as if he gritted his teeth. “I know you can, but you don’t have to do it all by yourself.”
She signed and looked into the darkened entry. “I know.” Meeting his gaze again, she realized how close they stood. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being cranky.”
He tilted his head toward the inside, and his lips twitched in a kissable one-sided smile. “You’re tired, hungry, and I know you’re in pain. C’mon. Let’s get something to eat.”
Before she could even think about carrying through with the crazy thought of kissing him, she entered the warm interior of the entry and was hit with the subtle scents of oil soap, ink from the box of crumpled newspapers Wyatt had used for packing, and leather. As with most Victorian homes, the oak stairway greeted her on the left of the entry. There was a dark living room on the right and a parlor on the left.
Wyatt turned on the lights, and she followed him down the hallway to the huge country kitchen. A formal dining room sat behind the parlor, an office and a pantry were next to it. She’d been in the Estrada’s home many times as a child. The place always had a warmth and character that made her feel safe and comfortable. But it was different this time. Instead of the scent of Stella’s chocolate chip cookies, she breathed in the overwhelming fragrance of cleaners used after the Estradas moved out.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Wyatt’s voice broke into her thoughts as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking around. Despite the differences in the place, the same feeling of belonging prickled through her, even though Wyatt’s small round dining set replaced Stella’s huge country trestle table that she, the Estrada kids, and Talon played fort under when they were kids. She smiled at the memories.
“Oh. Sorry. I was just remembering all the times Mary Estrada and I hid under the table from our brothers when Stella babysat us.” She sighed and pulled out a chair from the dinning set, which was much too small for the size of the kitchen.
He headed to the refrigerator and poked his head in. “Audrey never liked this house.” After he retrieved a plastic storage bowl, he removed the lid and closed the door. He put the bowl in the microwave before turning with a wicked smile playing on his lips. “She calls me crazy for buying the old place.”
“She still thinks it’s haunted?”
He shrugged and pulled two plates from the cupboard. “Who knows? The rumor is Stella’s great-grandmother Rebecca Cartwright still roams these big old rooms.”
She took the plates from him and laughed. “Well, if a member of the Ferguson clan buying her land doesn’t anger the old gal, nothing will.”
Looking over his shoulder, his eyes twinkled with mischief as he pulled another storage bowl from the fridge. “I guess time will tell. So, if you hear any chains rattling in the attic tonight, you’ve been forewarned.”
“I’ll remember that.” She took the bowl of potato salad and set it on the table.
He retrieved the steaming bowl of something spicy-smelling and a bag of sandwich rolls. After he set them on the table, he came back with a pitcher of sweet tea. She grabbed two glasses and some silverware, and then they sat down to eat.
“This smells great. Your mom’s barbequed pork?” She poured some tea into the glasses.
“You know Ma. She loves to cook.” He opened the rolls, took one out, and passed them to her. “She brought it and the salad over on Tuesday. I swear she thinks I’m starving to death.”
She laughed and took some of the potato salad. “She always thought you were too skinny.”
He glared at her, and she grinned as she bit into her sandwich. As the thought of Wyatt’s perfectly muscular body under her hands burned into her mind, she moaned and was glad her mouth was full of his mother’s delicious barbeque.
They ate in silence for a few moments. The easy way she’d relaxed with him surprised her, considering everything that had happened. She remembered the reason she was sitting here eating with Wyatt and set her half-eaten sandwich on her plate.
He frowned and sipped his tea. “I know that look.”
She shook her head. “We have to find this jerk. Something we did hit a nerve, and I want to know who is trying to scare me off the case.”
Leaning back in his chair, he wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “I talked to Dave Alton this morning.”
“Does he know anything?”
Wyatt stood and retrieved a tablet from the edge of the counter. He handed it to her as he sat again. “Border Patrol and the DEA have been watching a trucking company called North-South Transport.”
She read Wyatt’s barely legible scrawls and looked up. “The company ships textiles from Mexico to Dallas and is owned by a Lester Gilman? Why does that name sound so freakin’ familiar?”
He finished off his salad. “Because we put that two-bit con artist in prison on fraud and drug charges three and half years ago. He was released six months ago and went to work for his father, who was the original owner of North-South. Lester’s dear old dad kicked the bucket five months ago when he fell from a ten-story balcony. Guess who the sole inheritor was?”
“Lester. How convenient.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Oh, it gets better.”
“Please do tell. The suspense is killing me.”
Chuckling, he poured them more tea. “North-South Transport’s main supplier of those textiles is none other than Alvarez Textil.”
“As in Hector Alvarez, cousin of Ignacio Cotreras, boss of the Cotreras Cartel?” She massaged the tightening muscles of her neck.
“Bingo.” He stood and stepped behind her. She glanced over her
shoulder as he placed his hands on her back with the thumbs massaging the sore spots in her neck. “Can you guess the route North-South Transport takes to get from Monterrey, Mexico to Dallas?”
She almost moaned with relief and pleasure. How could she forget the magic of his massages? Heat bloomed in her core, and she had to force her mind to concentrate on his voice. “Highway Six. They pass right through town.”
“Two for two.” He hit a particularly tight spot, and she let out a moan of satisfaction.
“Feel good?” He chuckled and worked down her back.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and shivered at the heat in his deep blue eyes. This had to stop or she’d end up in bed with him again. Standing, she broke the connection. “We need to find that driver who showed up at the Quick Fill at the same time Chris Larson was killed. Has the FBI found anything yet?”
“I’ll contact them and find out.” He put his hands on his hips. “But first, you need to get some rest. I’ll show you to my room. I don’t have a bed in the guest room yet, so I’ll bunk in the living room.”
Chapter 12
Standing in the doorway of Wyatt’s bedroom, Dawn stared at the king-sized bed and swallowed hard. It was the same bed they’d shared all those years ago. Wyatt set the suitcase Dawn's mother had packed for her on the dark blue and white bedspread.
“The bathroom is right here.” Wyatt pointed to the door on the right of the hall. “I’ll use the one downstairs. Just let me grab some clothes and my razor.”
Dawn sucked her bottom lip between her teeth while Wyatt opened drawers and pulled out clothes. He passed her in the door and went into the large bathroom, which had been carved out of one of the bedrooms years ago when plumbing had been introduced into the old house, then came back with a shaving kit.
What did she do next? Letting herself drown in the blue sea of his gaze wasn’t an option. Clearing her throat, Dawn looked at her hands. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.”
“I know and I told you it’s the least I can do.” The huskiness of his voice had her meeting his eyes again. He jutted his chin toward the opening of the bedroom. “Go on. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do next. Goodnight, Dawn.”
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