by Sandra Brown
Junior spun around. “Like what?”
“That was twenty-five years ago, another time, another person. Alex isn’t her mother. She’s got more beauty, and a hell of a lot more brains. If you were half the man you’re supposed to be—if, for once, you’d think with your head instead of your pecker—you’d see how valuable it’d be to have her standing by your side.”
Junior blushed with anger. “I can see all that. I just wanted to make damn certain before I started a courtship that you would approve of it this time. Whether you want to believe it or not, I loved Celina. And if I start romancing Alex, I might just fall in love with her, too. For real. Not for you, not for the corporation, but for myself.”
He stamped toward the door. Angus called his name sharply. Out of habit, Junior stopped and turned around. “You resent this lecture, don’t you, boy?”
“Yes,” he stormed. “I’m a grown man, not a boy. I don’t need your coaching. I know how to handle Alex, or any other woman you can name.”
“Oh, you do?” Angus asked silkily.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then why did Alex leave you today and go off with Reede?”
Upstairs, Sarah Joe eavesdropped on the raging conversation. When Junior slunk into the living room and she heard the clatter of glassware, she silently closed the door to her sanctum and leaned back against it. Her chest rose and fell with a heavy, despairing sigh.
It was happening again.
There seemed to be no escaping this nightmare. Junior was going to have his heart broken again, this time by Celina’s daughter because she would come between Junior and his father and his best friend. History was repeating itself. The house was in an uproar, and all because of that girl.
Sarah Jo knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it. No, she was quite sure she wouldn’t. The first time, she had failed to protect Junior from heartache. She wouldn’t be able to protect him this time, either.
And that broke her heart.
Chapter 15
She’d had every opportunity to be mugged, raped, or murdered, or any combination thereof, in the Last Chance. Not to mention the chances she’d taken on the roads there and back. Luckily, she had left unscathed, except for her riled temper.
Entering her motel room, Alex slung her handbag and coat in the chair, furious with herself for chasing after what was obviously a red herring. Greg Harper would have a field day if he ever found out she’d been so gullible.
That afternoon, she had called him. He wasn’t impressed with her findings so far, and made another pitch for her to return to Austin and reconcile herself to the past. She had held him to the time he’d allotted her.
His disfavor with her lack of results was one reason she had put so much stock in her clandestine meeting tonight. Greg would feel different if she could produce an eyewitness to the murder.
She should have known the instant she pulled into the parking lot of the bar that it didn’t hold much promise. Three bulbs were missing from the Texas lone star that blinked off and on above the door. She had hesitated to even go inside the place.
Every head in the room had turned. The men were a rough bunch. They were drawn to her like coyotes to fresh meat. The women looked even rougher, and glowered at her with the blatant unfriendliness of potential rivals. She was tempted to turn and run, but remembering what had taken her there, she walked boldly to the bar.
“White wine, please.”
That generated a snicker from everybody within hearing distance. Taking her glass with her, she moved to a booth and slid into the bench that would afford her the best view of the room. Sipping self-consciously, she let her gaze move from one face to another, trying to ascertain which belonged to the voice on the telephone.
Then, to her horror, she realized that some of the men took her close scrutiny of them as encouragement. From then on, she confined her stares to the bottom of her wine glass, wishing that her informant would hurry up and join her and end the suspense. On the other hand, she dreaded meeting him. If he were among this crowd, she didn’t think he’d be someone she would enjoy getting to know.
Billiard balls clacked and clattered. She got an overdose of George Strait and Waylon Jennings. She inhaled clouds of smoke, even though she wasn’t smoking. And still she sat alone.
Finally, a man who had been seated at the bar when she had come in slid off his stool and moved in the general direction of her booth. He took his own sweet time, stopping at the jukebox to make his selections and pausing beside the pool table to heckle one of the players about a bad shot.
His wandering seemed aimless and casual, but his gaze kept drifting toward her. Her midsection tightened. Instinctively, she knew that his final destination would be her booth.
It was. He propped his hip against the back of the padded bench across the table from her and smiled down as he tilted a long-neck beer bottle to his lips. “You waitin’ for somebody?”
His voice sounded different, but then, both times he’d called her, he’d been whispering. “You know I am,” she replied in a cold undertone. “Why’d you take so long to come over?”
“I was building up my courage,” he said, slurping another draft of beer. “Now that I’m here, wanna dance?”
“Dance?”
“Yeah, dance. You know, a one an’ a two.” He used the spout of his beer bottle to push up the brim of his cowboy hat. His eyes slithered over her.
Her reaction was negative and chilling. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
He seemed momentarily nonplussed, then gave her a slow, sly grin. “We can talk all you want to, honey.” He set his bottle of beer on the table and extended his hand down to her. “My truck’s right outside.”
He was just a cowboy on the make! Alex didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Hastily gathering up her things, she headed for the door. “Hey, wait a minute. Where’re you goin’?”
She left him and everybody else at the Last Chance wondering. Now, pacing the worn carpet of her motel room, she berated herself for being such a fool. She wouldn’t put it past Reede or one of the Mintons to pay an out-of-work cowboy a few bucks to call her and deliberately throw her off track.
She was still stewing several minutes later when her telephone rang. She yanked it up. “Hello.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” the familiar voice wheezed.
“Where were you?” she shouted. “I waited in that sleazy joint for almost an hour.”
“Was the sheriff there the whole time?”
“What are you talking about? Reede wasn’t there.”
“Look, lady, I know what I seen. I got there just as you was goin’ inside. Reede Lambert was tailin’ you. Oh, he cruised on past, but made a U-turn down the road a piece. I didn’t even stop. It wouldn’t do at all for Lambert to see us talkin’ together.”
“Reede was following me?”
“Damn right. I didn’t count on no law, especially Lambert, breathin’ down my neck when I called you. He’s thicker’n thieves with the Mintons. I’ve got a good mind to call off this whole goddamn thing.”
“No, no,” Alex said quickly. “I didn’t know Reede was anywhere around. We’ll meet someplace else. Next time, I’ll be certain he’s not trailing me.”
“Well…”
“On the other hand, if what you’ve got to tell me isn’t all that important…”
“I seen who done it, lady.”
“Then where can we meet? And when?”
He named another bar, which sounded even more disreputable than the Last Chance. “Don’t go inside this time. There’ll be a red pickup parked on the north side of the building. I’ll be in it.”
“I’ll be there, Mr.—Uh, can’t you at least tell me your name?”
“Nope.”
He hung up. Alex cursed. She bounced off the bed and went to the window, throwing open the drapes with the flourish of the bullfighter in the terrible artwork.
Feeling foolish, she saw that the only car near her room was her
own. The familiar black-and-white Blazer was nowhere to be seen. She closed the drapes, went back to the phone, and angrily punched out another number. She was so furious at Reede for scaring off an eyewitness, she was shaking.
“Sheriff’s office.”
“I want to speak to Sheriff Lambert.”
“He’s already left for the day,” she was informed. “Is it an emergency?”
“Do you know where he is?”
“At home, I reckon.”
“What’s that number, please?”
“We aren’t s’posed to give it out.”
“This is Ms. Gaither. I must speak with Sheriff Lambert tonight. It’s very important. If necessary, I could track him through the Mintons, but I hate to disturb them.”
Dropping important names worked miracles. She was given the telephone number without further delay. She intended to put an immediate halt to the sheriff’s sneaky surveillance.
Her resolve vanished when a feminine contralto voice answered his telephone.
“It’s a woman, asking for you.” Nora Gail extended the telephone receiver to Reede. Her pencil-perfect eyebrows formed an inquisitive arch. He had been adding logs to the fireplace across the room. He brushed his hands on the seat of his jeans and pretended not to see the inquiry in her expression as he took the receiver from her.
“Yeah? This is Lambert.”
“This is Alex.”
He turned his back on his guest. “What do you want?”
“I want to know why you were following me tonight.”
“How do you know I was?”
“I… I saw you.”
“No, you didn’t. What the hell were you doing in that honky-tonk?”
“Having a drink.”
“And you picked the Last Chance?” he asked scoffingly. “Baby, you hardly look like its typical barfly. That place is reserved for shit kickers and roughnecks looking for fun with dissatisfied housewives. So either you went there to get laid, or to keep a secret appointment. Which was it?”
“I was there on official business.”
“So, it was to meet somebody. Who? You’d be wise to tell me, Alex, because whoever it was got scared off when he saw me.”
“You admit that you were trailing me?” Reede remained stubbornly silent. “That’s just one of many topics we’ll address first thing in the morning.”
“Sorry. Tomorrow’s my day off.”
“It’s important.”
“That’s your opinion.”
“Where will you be?”
“I said no, Counselor.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“The hell I don’t. I’m off duty tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m not.”
He cursed and blew out an exasperated breath, making certain she heard both. “If the ground’s thawed out, I’ll be at the Mintons’ practice track.”
“I’ll find you.”
Without another word, he dropped the receiver back into the cradle. He’d trapped her and he knew it. He’d heard her breathing falter when he’d asked how she’d known he had followed her. Whoever she had planned on meeting had chickened out. Who? Junior? It was disturbing how much he disliked that idea.
“Who was that?” Nora Gail asked, adjusting the lush white mink coat around her shoulders. Her beaded sweater had a low neckline. She amply filled it… and then some. In the cleft of her breasts nestled an opal as big around as a silver dollar. The gold chain suspending it in that magnificent setting was half an inch wide and studded with small, brilliant diamonds.
She took a black cigarette out of an eighteen-carat gold box. Reede picked up her matching lighter and held it to the tip of the cigarette. She curved her hand around his. The rings on her plump, pampered hand glittered. “Thank you, sugar.”
“Don’t mention it.” He tossed the lighter back onto the kitchen table and returned to his chair across from her.
“That was Celina’s girl, wasn’t it?”
“What if it was?”
“Ah.” She pulled her lips into a ruby pucker and blew a stream of smoke toward his ceiling. “Her ears must have been burning.” Tilting her hand downward, she pointed with her cigarette at the letter lying on the table. “What do you think about it?”
Reede picked up the letter and reread it, though its message had been crystal clear the first time. It urged Alexandra Gaither to cease and desist in her investigation. The letter strongly suggested that she suspend all efforts to prosecute Angus Minton, Junior Minton, and Reede Lambert on any criminal charges.
The character of each man mentioned was given a glowing review by the undersigned, who were a group of concerned citizens—among them, his guest. They were concerned not only for their esteemed colleagues who found themselves in this unfortunate circumstance, but also for themselves and their business interests, should the racetrack license be revoked in light of Ms. Gaither’s unfounded investigation.
In summation, the letter admonished her to retreat immediately and let them get down to the business of profiting well off the increased revenue a racetrack would mean to their community.
After reading the letter a second time, Reede refolded it and stuffed it into the unsealed envelope. It had been addressed to Alex in care of the Westerner Motel.
He didn’t comment on the contents. Instead, he asked, “Did you instigate it?”
“I bounced the idea off a few of the others.”
“It sounds like one of your brainstorms.”
“I’m a careful businesswoman. You know that. The others thought it was a good idea and took it from there. We all approved the final draft. I suggested that we get your input before we mail it to her.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve spent more time with her than anybody else in town. We thought you might guess what her reaction will be.”
He studied her impassive features for a long moment. She was as sly as a fox. She hadn’t gotten as rich as she was by being dumb or careless. Reede liked her, always had. He slept with her on a regular basis to their mutual satisfaction. But he didn’t trust her.
Feeding someone like her too much information would not only be unethical, it would be just plain stupid. He had enough street smarts to know better, and it would take more than an extended viewing of her spectacular cleavage to loosen his tongue.
“Your guess is as good as mine how she’ll react,” he said noncommittally. “She probably won’t react at all.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I doubt she’ll pack her bags and head for Austin the minute she reads this.”
“Courageous, is she?”
Reede shrugged.
“Stubborn?”
He gave a sardonic smile. “You could say that, yeah. She’s damned stubborn.”
“I’m curious about this girl.”
“Why?”
“Because you frown every time her name comes up.” She sent another stream of acrid smoke ceilingward as she regarded him closely. “You’re frowning now, sugar.”
“Habit.”
“Does she look like her mother?”
“Not much,” he said shortly. “There’s a resemblance, that’s all.”
Her smile was slow, feline, crafty. “She bothers you, doesn’t she?”
“Hell, yes, she bothers me,” he shouted. “She’s trying to send me to prison. Wouldn’t that bother you?”
“Only if I was guilty.”
Reede clenched his teeth. “All right, I’ve read your letter and given you my opinion. Why don’t you haul your ass out of my house?”
Unperturbed by his anger, she leisurely ground out her cigarette in his tin ashtray and pulled her fur coat around her as she stood up. She gathered up her cigarettes, lighter, and the envelope addressed to Alex, and replaced them in her handbag. “I know from experience, Mr. Reede Lambert, that you think my ass is quite something.”
Reede’s temper abated. Laughing with chagrin, he squeezed a handful of fanny through her clothing
and snarled, “You’re right. It is.”
“Friends?”
“Friends.”
As they stood facing each other, she smoothed her hand down his belly and cupped his sex. It was full and firm, but unaroused. “It’s a cold night, Reede,” she said in a sultry voice. “Want me to stay?”
He shook his head. “We agreed a long time ago that in order to remain friends, I’d come to you to get laid.”
She drew a pretty frown. “Why’d we agree to that?”
“Because I’m the sheriff and you run a whorehouse.”
Her laugh was guttural and sexy. “Goddamn right, I do. The best and most profitable one in the state. Anyway, I see I took good care of you the other night.” She’d been massaging him through his jeans, with no results.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Smiling, the madam dropped her hand and moved toward the door. She addressed him over her shoulder. “What was the urgency? I don’t recall seeing you in such a dither since you heard about a certain soldier boy in El Paso, name of Gaither.”
Reede’s eyes turned a darker, more menacing green. “No urgency. Just horny.”
She smiled her knowing smile and patted his stubbled cheek. “You’ll have to lie better than that, Reede, honey, to put one over on me. I’ve known you too long and too well.” Her voice drifted back to him as she stepped into the darkness beyond his door. “Don’t be a stranger, sugar, you hear?”
Chapter 16
It was no longer sleeting, but it was still very cold. Patches of thin ice crunched beneath Alex’s boots as she carefully made her way from her parked car toward the practice track. The brilliant sunshine, which had not deigned to appear for the last several days, now blinded her. The sky was a vivid blue. Jets, looking no larger than pinpoints, trailed puffy lines that sometimes crisscrossed, matching the miles of white fencing on the Minton ranch that divided the compound into separate pens and paddocks.
The ground between the gravel road and the practice track was uneven. Tire tracks had worn permanent ruts in it over the years. It was muddy in spots where ice had already surrendered to the sun’s rays.