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Contents:
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Epilogue
© 2004
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One
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The northwest corner of the square at Tanner's Crossing was a beehive of activity. Trucks of every description, mostly of the construction variety, lined the street and ate up what little parking space was left on the adjacent lot that wasn't already barricaded off with signs that read Fresh Oil—Stay Off. Workmen, busy at their individual jobs, sweated beneath a hot midday sun.
Rory Tanner stood in front of the almost-completed building, his thumbs pushed together in front of his face, studying the view through the frame he'd created with his hands.
"I want it to look like a corral," he said, describing the window display as he envisioned it. "Fence posts and some rails. Just a corner, you understand. Not the whole shootin' match. A couple of cactus scattered here and there. Maybe a cow skull propped up in the background. I don't want any mannequins."
He dropped his hands to shudder. "Those things give me the creeps. Look like a bunch of stiffs, standing around." He waved a hand, indicating the window. "Hang whatever clothing you want to display from the ceiling. Use fishing line or some such. You can even tack some clothes on the wall, if need be. And boots. Lots of boots. Put 'em on hay bales, a rock, on the floor of the corral we're creating. And use real dirt in the corral. We're goin' for realism here. Lots of color and drama. I want this display to grab a person by the neck and drag 'im into the store."
He glanced over at the woman who was jotting down notes on a legal pad. "You get my drift?"
"Yes, I believe I do." She lowered the pad to frown at him. "Though how you think I can pull this off on such short notice is beyond me."
Grinning, he slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. "Because you're the best window dresser in the state, that's how. Being as this store's in my hometown, it's got to be the best one in my chain. I don't want anybody saying that Rory Tanner does anything halfway. Gotta uphold the family name, you know."
His mind already jumping ahead to the next problem he needed to deal with, he gave her another quick hug, then strode away.
"Hey, Jim," he called to a carpenter perched on a tall ladder propped against the store's front facade. "Make sure that sign is level. Don't want folks gettin' cricks in their necks trying to read it."
Chuckling, Jim lifted a hand in acknowledgment and went back to screwing in the bolts that would hold the sign proclaiming Tanner's Cowboy Outfitters.
"Need some help there, Don?" Rory asked a man welding pipe fittings together.
Don flipped up his welding helmet, his shoulders sagging wearily. "I could sure use another set of hands. Gus didn't show today. Probably laid up drunk somewhere. There's another welding helmet on the floorboard of my truck. If you don't mind, grab another couple of pieces of that six-foot pipe from the bed while you're at it."
As handy with a welding torch as he was with a lariat, Rory donned the helmet, flipped back the visor, then pulled several six-foot lengths of pipe from the bed and headed back, toting them on his shoulder. While sizing up the three-foot-high iron railing Don was creating to separate the sidewalk from the parallel parking spaces at the curb, he dragged a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket and tugged them onto his hands, then set to work.
The two men quickly developed a rhythm and, working together, put up two more sections of pipe fencing, before Don pushed back his visor and signaled Rory that he needed to switch out the tanks on his welding machine.
His shirt soaked with sweat, Rory peeled off his helmet. He dragged an arm across his forehead, mopping off his brow as he looked around. Pride swelled his chest. Of all the stores in his chain, this was going to be the flagship, the jewel in a crown of successful retail stores. Rightfully so, since this was his hometown. A lot of folks had wondered if and when he'd put a store in Tanner's Crossing. Until recently, it was the last location he would've considered for expansion.
But since the old man's death, the Tanner brothers were slowly drifting back home, becoming a family again. Ace had come first, when, as the oldest of the brothers, he'd taken over the duties of executor of the old man's estate. He'd set up base at the Bar-T, the family ranch, and taken responsibility for the baby the old man had left behind—literally a doorstep delivery that had left all the brothers standing slack-jawed, wondering what the hell to do with the kid. Then Ace had married Maggie and they'd adopted the baby, which had relieved everyone, Rory included.
Ry was the last to return home, had married and was now busy performing surgeries at the local hospital. Of course, a lot had transpired between Ry's return and him deciding to take up surgery again. But Ry was happy now, happier than Rory remembered him being in years. Most of that Rory attributed to Kayla, Ry's new bride.
In between Ace and Ry's returns, Woodrow had taken himself a wife, a pediatrician who couldn't be any more perfect for Woodrow if she'd been cut and molded just to suit him. Which left Whit and Rory as the only Tanner brothers with their bachelor status still intact. Rory didn't know about Whit, but he intended to hang on to his a sight longer. Maybe forever. He liked women too much to settle down with just one. He liked the softness of a woman, the gentleness, the femininity.
And if the woman stepping out of the Jeep Cherokee that had just driven onto the lot had an ounce of femininity in her, she was hiding it well.
Denim overalls—menswear, in Rory's estimation—camouflaged whatever figure she might have. And that hair! It looked as if she'd lined up with sheep for a shearing and hadn't realized her mistake until halfway through the process. The result was chopped-off shanks of sun-streaked blond hair that hit her about chin length and overlong bangs that she shoved back with an impatient gesture, as she looked up at the sign Jim had finished hanging. A pair of aviator sunglasses hid her eyes, but what part of her face the glasses didn't conceal offered some hope. High cheekbones. A slim nose that on another woman might be considered pixielike. And full, moist lips stained a soft, succulent peach.
It was on those lips that Rory focused as he strode her way, prepared to play host.
"Howdy," he called, and shot her a welcoming smile when she glanced his way. "We're not open for business yet, but if you'd like a personal tour of the store, I'd be happy to oblige."
She gave him a long look from behind her sunglasses, then turned away.
"No, thanks. I saw the sign and hoped I'd find a Tanner here."
Something in her tone told Rory this wasn't a social call, which put him on guard. "There are several Tanners in Tanner's Crossing. Which one are you looking for?"
"Buck." She glanced his way, a brow lifted in question above the rim of her sunglasses. "Do you know him?"
Dread churned in his stomach upon hearing his father's name, but he managed to keep his expression impassive. "Yes, ma'am. It just so happens I do."
She looked around, as if expecting to find Buck. "Is he here?"
"No, ma'am." He eyed her suspiciously. "What would you be wanting to see Buck about?"
She pulled her glasses down her nose and burned him with a look. "That's none of your business."
He bit down on his anger. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but ol' Buck is dead."
The blood slowly drained from her face. "Dead? But … when?"
"Last fall. Heart attack." He snapped his fingers. "Went like that."
"He can't be dead. I—" She clamped her lips together and looked away.
Rory would swear he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes before she shoved her sunglasses back in place, hiding them. Unsure what to say or if he should say a
nything at all, he remained silent.
"Family," she said, as if thinking aloud, then turned to him. "You said there were other Tanners in town. Are they related to Buck?"
"Yes, ma'am. That they are. He left behind four sons, a stepson and an infant daughter he never laid eyes on."
"I need to talk to them. Where would I find them?"
"At the Bar-T. The family ranch. It's about ten miles outside of town."
"Can you give me directions?"
"I could," he said, then shook his head. "But it wouldn't do you much good. The entire place is fenced, with gated security. It'd be easier to gain entrance to Fort Knox than the Bar-T."
Those moist lips he'd admired thinned to a determined line.
"Well, there has to be a way to get in contact with them. They do have phones, don't they?"
"Unlisted numbers." He waited a beat, then added, "But if you're hell-bent on talking to them, I suppose I could try to arrange a meeting for you."
"How long would that take?"
He scratched his chin. "Hard to say. There's a passel of 'em. It'll require some fancy two-stepping to round 'em all up in one spot. If you're staying at a hotel in town, I'll see what I can put together and give you a call."
She opened the door to her Jeep and leaned inside. When she turned back, she had a notepad and pen in hand. "I'm not staying at a hotel," she told him, as she jotted down a series of numbers. "I have a travel trailer parked on the south side of town." She tore the page from the pad and thrust it at him. "This is my cell number. I answer it twenty-four/seven."
Rory looked at the number, then over at her, struggling to keep the irritation from his voice. "Got a name to go with this number?"
"Macy," she replied as she climbed back into her Jeep. "Macy Keller."
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Rory didn't waste any time getting in touch with his brothers. The dust hadn't settled from the Jeep's exit before he was striding to his truck and retrieving his own cell phone from its console. He called Ace first, figuring, as the official head of the family and the one who lived the farthest away, Ace deserved the courtesy.
"We may have us some trouble," he said as soon as he heard his brother's voice.
"Trouble?" Ace repeated.
Scowling, Rory dragged a hand over his sweat-dampened hair. "Yeah. There was a woman just here. At the store. Stopped because she saw the Tanner name on the sign. Said she was looking for Buck."
"Buck? Did she say why?"
Rory huffed a breath. "Said it was none of my business. I told her he'd died last fall. Now she wants to talk to his family. I didn't bother to tell her I was a Tanner. Didn't like her attitude. Plus, I figured whatever business she had with Buck would best be presented to us as a group."
"Damn," Ace swore.
"My sentiments exactly. I told her I'd get in touch with the family and arrange a meeting. Short notice, I know, but is there any way you could come to the ranch tonight? I figure the sooner we find out what she wants, the better."
"Amen to that. Have you talked to the others?"
"No. You're the first I called."
"Call the rest and tell 'em to be at the ranch by eight. I can make it by then if I leave now."
"Consider it done," Rory replied, then broke the connection. He fished the scrap of paper from his pocket, intending to call Macy Keller and tell her he'd set up a meeting for eight that night, then thought better of it, remembering that he'd told her it would take some fancy two-stepping to put this together. Better to wait a couple of hours before calling her, he decided. Otherwise she might become suspicious and start asking a lot of questions. Like his name.
Chuckling, he stuffed the slip of paper back into his pocket. And he didn't want to tell her his name over the phone. When she discovered who he was, he wanted to be standing opposite her so that he could see the look on her face when she realized that the man who had arranged the meeting for her was none other than Rory Tanner, Buck's youngest son.
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As he passed through the gates of the Bar-T, Rory checked his rearview mirror, to make sure the Jeep was still behind him. It was a toss-up as to whether he was relieved or irritated when he saw that it was.
"Insisting on following in her own vehicle," he muttered under his breath. What did she take him for, anyway? A molester? He snorted a breath. Fat chance of him making a move on her. He'd rather cozy up to a patch of poison ivy than cuddle with the likes of her.
Though he had to admit she looked a sight better than she had that afternoon.
She'd traded the overalls and tank top for tan linen trousers and a sleeveless linen blouse a shade or two lighter than the slacks. Still couldn't tell beans about her figure, though, he thought, frowning, as he turned his gaze back to the road. Other than the fact that God had shortchanged her when He was passing out breasts. The woman appeared to be as flat as a pancake.
As he approached the house, he did a quick count of the vehicles that lined the driveway and was relieved to see that all his brothers were present and accounted for. He parked beside Woodrow's wife's car and climbed down from his truck. He waited for Macy to join him, then opened a hand in invitations indicating for her to proceed him up the walk. At the front door, he reached around her and pushed it open, without bothering to knock.
At her incredulous look, he said, "It's okay. They're expecting us."
Once inside, he didn't waste any time but strode straight for the study, where he found his brothers waiting. Conversation died, as Macy stepped in behind him.
"Macy Keller," he said, beginning the introductions, "these are the Tanners. That's Ace, the oldest, behind the desk. The pretty lady standing beside him is his wife, Maggie, and that's Laura, their daughter, she's holding, who also happens to be Buck's daughter."
At her confused look, he shrugged. "Long story. The short of it is Ace and Maggie adopted Buck's daughter after Buck died." He gestured toward the sofa. "The big, ugly one there is Woodrow and beside him, his wife, Dr. Elizabeth Tanner. Sitting next to Elizabeth is Kayla, the newest member of the Tanner family, and next to her is her husband Dr. Ry Tanner, the second born." He angled his body and waved a hand toward the far wall where a man stood off by himself. "And the lone wolf over there in the corner is Whit. He's a stepbrother and likes to think that makes him different from the others, but it doesn't. He's a Tanner, just like the rest of us."
A choked sound came from beside him. "Us?" she repeated.
It was the moment Rory had waited for. Prepared to enjoy it, he offered her a smile and his hand. "Rory Tanner, ma'am. The youngest son of Buck Tanner."
She folded her arms across her breasts, refusing to shake. "You could've told me that you were a Tanner," she said, her voice sharp with accusation.
"Could've," he agreed, then widened his smile. "But then you never asked, did you?" He gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat."
She jutted her chin. "No thank you. This won't take long." Crossing to the desk, she pulled an envelope from her feed-bucket-style purse and tossed it onto the desktop in front of Ace. "I had planned to give this to Buck. As his oldest son, I assume you're executor of his estate and will know what to do with it."
Ace picked up the envelope and held it up to the light, then glanced at her with a frown. "Looks like there's a check inside."
"There is," she assured him. "A cashier's check in the amount of $75,000."
His frown deepening, he reared back in his chair. "And does this check come with an explanation?"
"I'm returning what's his."
He snorted a breath. "Sorry, but you're going to have to do better than that."
Intrigued by this unexpected turn of events, Rory slid onto a chair, keeping his gaze on Macy's back. The woman was carrying a good-size chip around. Stiff shoulders. Hands clenched into fists at her sides. If she were wound up any tighter, he figured she'd snap right in two.
"Buck set up a trust for me," she said, then gestured to the envelope. "I'm giving the money back."
She balled her hands into tighter fists. "What exactly is it you want to know?"
Ace tossed the envelope onto the desk. "All of it. You can start with why Buck would feel the need to set up a trust for you."
Her jaw hardened. "Because he thought he was my father."
Ace lifted a brow. "Thought he was?"
She gave her chin a tight jerk of acknowledgment.
"And why would Buck think such a thing, if it wasn't the case?"
"Because my mother told him that she was pregnant and that the baby was his."
"Your mother lied?"
She set her teeth so hard, Rory was sure he heard them grind together.
"Yes."
"And you were aware of this lie?"
"No. Growing up, I thought Buck was my father."
"And when did you realize that he wasn't?"
"A couple of months ago. My mother told me. I suppose she wanted to clear her conscience." She dropped her chin to her chest and shot a hand beneath her nose. "She was dying."
"This trust Buck set up," Ace continued. "Had you spent the money prior to learning that he wasn't your father?"
She snapped up her head to glare at him. "What does that have to do with anything? I'm giving the money back, aren't I?"
"If we choose to accept it," he informed her.
"Why wouldn't you?" she cried. "It was Buck's and given to me under duress, I'm sure. All I want to do is give the money back. Make things right."
"Whatever his reason," Ace said stubbornly, "Buck felt an obligation to set up a trust in your name." He leaned to push the envelope across the desk. "The money is rightfully yours. It has nothing to do with me or my brothers."
She tucked her hands behind her and backed away. "No. I came here to return it and I have. As far as I'm concerned, the slate's clean."
"But—"
She held up a hand, cutting Ace off. "The money isn't mine. It belongs to y'all. You're Tanners, and I'm not."
Before anyone could stop her, she turned and strode from the room. The slam of the front door echoed through the house, confirming her departure.
The Last Good Man in Texas Page 1