The Last Good Man in Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  For a moment, silence reigned in the study.

  Frowning, Ace scraped the envelope from the top of the desk and stood. "Well, what do y'all make of that?"

  Woodrow released the breath he'd been holding. "Beats the hell out of me," he said, then looked around. "But it looks to me like we've come out of this little skirmish with our hair and hide still intact."

  His frown deepening, Ace tapped the edge of the envelope against the palm of his hand. "I don't know that we're out of it, yet."

  "What do you mean?" Woodrow asked in puzzlement. "The lady admitted that Buck isn't her father, gave the trust money back and hightailed it out of here, asking for nothing. Seems like we ought to be thanking our lucky stars she didn't demand a full share of the estate. She might've, you know."

  "Yeah," Ace agreed, nodding. "She might've." He tossed the envelope down on the desk and added grimly, "And that's what has me worried. Why didn't she?"

  Rory looked around the room at the others and saw the same doubt mirrored on the faces of the others. "Because she's honest?" he offered. "Because she was trying to right a wrong?"

  Ace dragged a hand over his hair, then shook his head. "Maybe. But what if that wasn't her goal? What if she has something else planned? Maybe this deathbed confession of her mother's she told us about was a lie. Maybe she's returning the $75,000 because she's wanting to stake a claim on the old man's estate."

  "There's no sense in looking for trouble," Ry said. "Trouble has a habit of finding the Tanners all on its own."

  "Better to be prepared for it, then let it catch us unaware," Ace argued.

  Maggie stepped forward and laid a supportive hand on her husband's shoulder. "I think Ace is right. Think about it. What woman in her right mind would willingly hand over $75,000 that no one knew she had in the first place?"

  "An honest one?" Rory suggested again.

  "Do you know that the woman is honest?" Ace asked him in frustration.

  Scowling, Rory hunched his shoulders and slid farther down in his chair. "You know damned good and well I don't. She showed up this afternoon at the store out of the blue. I've never seen her before in my life."

  "She looked as if she was crying when she left."

  Rory snapped his head around to peer at Elizabeth, who had made the remark. "Macy was cryin'?"

  Elizabeth nodded. "I would swear I saw tears in her eyes as she ran past."

  Rory bolted for the door and outside, stopping on the front porch and watching the cloud of dust that Macy's Jeep had left behind. Frowning, he returned to the study.

  "Too late," he informed the others. "She's gone."

  "Did she say where she was from?" Ace asked him.

  Rory lifted a shoulder as he sank back down on the chair. "She's not much on small talk. All I know is she has a travel trailer parked on a lot south of town."

  "If she's parked a trailer, it sounds as if she is planning on hanging around for a while." Ace pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I think we need to keep an eye on her. See what she's up to."

  "And how the hell are we supposed to do that?" Rory asked in exasperation.

  "One of us needs to befriend her," Ace said. "Find out if she's planning on hanging around and, if she is, why."

  "And which one of us have you pegged to play watchdog?" Rory asked dryly. When Ace merely looked at him, Rory glanced around the room and found every pair of eyes focused on him. He shot from his chair. "Uh-uh. No way. I'm not spying on that woman."

  "No one is asking you to spy on her," Ace told him. "All we're asking is that you make friends with her. Find out what her plans are."

  "Why me?" Rory cried. "Why not one of the others?"

  Ace lifted his hands. "You're the logical choice. You're in town every day."

  "So is Ry," Rory reminded him.

  "Ry's a married man. If he were to befriend the woman, people would talk."

  "What about Whit?" Rory asked, desperate to find an alternative. "He's not married."

  Whit peeled his back from the wall, his face turning a sickly white. "Oh, no, Ace, please," he begged. "You know how I am around women. I get all tongue-tied and embarrassed. She wouldn't give me the time of day."

  Rory spun away in frustration, knowing what Whit said was true. "Man, this is so unfair," he complained.

  Grinning, Woodrow stretched out a leg and gave Rory a nudge with the toe of his boot. "Since when do you consider courting a woman as drudgery?"

  "Woman being the operative word," Rory muttered darkly. "Macy Keller may be a female, but there's not a womanly thing about her."

  Scowling, he rammed his hat over his head. "I don't know why I'm the one who gets stuck with all the crummy jobs," he grumbled as he turned for the door. Reaching it, he turned and aimed a warning finger at his brothers. "But I'm telling you right here and now, paybacks are going to be a bitch."

  Biting back a smile, Ace crossed the room and handed him the check. "You'll need to return this to her," he said, then gave Rory a confident pat on the back. "I've got faith in you, bro. You can handle this."

  "Yeah, yeah," Rory grumbled as he stuffed the check into his wallet. "You're just saying that because you know damn good and well I always get stuck doing the jobs nobody else wants to do."

  * * *

  The rear wheels of Macy's Jeep spewed rock and dust as she shot out onto the highway, anxious to leave the Tanners' ranch behind. She couldn't believe that they'd tried to make her keep the money. What were they? Crazy? Or maybe they were just a bunch of masochists, who enjoyed watching a person suffer.

  It wasn't bad enough that she'd had to stand there, like a convicted felon, and admit that her mother had lied to their father. Oh, no, she thought, tightening her hands in a stranglehold on the steering wheel, as the humiliation burned through her again. They'd made her tell the whole embarrassing story, then refused to accept the money, the only way left to her to clear her conscience and right an old wrong.

  She narrowed her eyes at the road ahead, her humiliation segueing to fury, as she thought of the cowboy who had offered to arrange the meeting for her in the first place. He'd lied to her. Deceived her. Flirted with her even. And without ever bothering to tell her that he was Buck Tanner's son.

  And he'd enjoyed the deception, she thought resentfully. She'd seen the smirk on his face when he'd offered her his hand and introduced himself as "Rory Tanner, Buck Tanner's youngest son."

  She shot a hand beneath her eyes, swiping at the tears that leaked onto her cheeks. He had what she'd yearned for, wept over for years. They all did. The Tanner name. But all the years of yearning for the name, while despising the man who had denied her of it, had been for naught. She wasn't a Tanner.

  She didn't know who she was.

  * * *

  Two

  « ^ »

  Ace was trying his best to burn up Rory's cell phone, but Rory was having no part of it. Thanks to the caller ID feature, he knew each time it was Ace who called and refused to answer. He knew what his brother wanted. He was calling to check up on him, make sure that he'd made contact with the Tanners' latest potential nightmare, Macy Keller.

  But Rory hadn't done anything about Macy, yet. Couldn't bring himself to dial her cell phone number. What the hell would he say to her if he did? Hey, it's Rory. The guy who played you for a fool yesterday? I was just wondering if you were planning on doing anything malicious or underhanded to the Tanners.

  He snorted a breath. Yeah. Like the woman was going to tell him if she did have something up her sleeve.

  He heaved a weary sigh. But the job of keeping an eye on her was his to do, and he'd do it.

  Dammit.

  A giant dose of castor oil would go down easier than the thought of striking up a friendship with her. In his estimation, the woman had the hide of a porcupine and the temperament of a grizzly, two traits that any man with half a brain would steer clear of. Though he considered himself an accomplished flirt and possessed an encyclopedia-size repertoire of pickup lines, he cou
ldn't think of a one that would work on this particular female.

  Praying he'd be struck with a conversation opener on the drive to the south part of town, he climbed into his truck and pulled out into traffic. He'd made it halfway around the square when he spotted her dust-encrusted Jeep parked in front of the public library. He quickly whipped his truck into the empty space beside it, parked and waited, wondering what in the hell she was doing in the library. Joining the Summer Reading Club?

  He'd about decided she had taken up residence inside, when the door to the library opened and she stepped out into the sunshine. She paused to push on her sunglasses, then started down the steep stone steps, her shoulders slumped in dejection, which struck him as odd. What would be disappointing about a trip to the library? Had she been denied a library card? Granted, she wasn't a resident of Tanner's Crossing, but if she'd wanted to check out a book, surely the librarian, Miss Marnie, would've made an exception. Miss Marnie encouraged reading and wouldn't hesitate to bend a few rules to promote it.

  Macy was halfway down the steps when he realized that if he didn't hustle, he was going to lose the element of surprise that he needed to corner her.

  He quickly hopped down from his truck and propped a hip against the hood of her Jeep.

  "Well, fancy meeting you here," he drawled.

  She glanced up at the sound of his voice, then flattened her lips in irritation and marched toward him. "That's my Jeep you're sitting on."

  He glanced back, as if to verify her claim. "So it is."

  She waved an impatient hand. "You can cut the innocent act. What is it you want?"

  "Out of life in general?" He reached to thread a strand of hair behind her ear, then met her gaze again, his lips curving in a slow, sensual smile. "Or from a sexy lady like yourself?"

  Scowling, she batted his hand away. "Give it up, Romeo. That lady-killer act is wasted on me."

  He pressed a palm to his chest. "Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me."

  She turned and strode to the driver's side of the Jeep. "I don't."

  He pushed away from her hood and followed, wounded, but not ready to give up. "How can you not like me? You don't even know me."

  She pulled out her key ring and punched the lock release. "I don't have to. I know your type."

  When she reached for the door, he flattened a hand against it, keeping her from opening it. "And what type is that?"

  She drew in an angry breath and spun to face him. "A flirt."

  Instead of backing off, as she obviously expected him to do, he leaned back against the door and crossed his legs at the ankles, his stance relaxed, friendly. "That's odd. Most women find me irresistible."

  "Really?" she said, feigning surprise, then clamped her jaw down in a scowl. "Well, I happen to think you're obnoxious and deceitful, which nixes any chance of me ever liking you, so why don't you quit wasting your time and mine, and get the heck out of my way."

  He shook his head with regret. "And here I was about to invite you to dinner."

  "I'd starve before I'd go out with you."

  He lifted a brow. "You might want to hear where I was planning on taking you before you decide. Bubba's Joint," he continued, not giving her time to tell him the place didn't matter. "Bubba's a legend around here. Stands six-and-a-half-feet tall, weighs a good three hundred pounds and serves up the best barbecue brisket in this part of the country.

  "Pecan-smoked," he added. "Which is a tradition in Bubba's family. That would be the McHeeleys. They've lived in Tanner's Crossing almost as long as the Tanners and have always run a restaurant of one sort or another. Usually barbecue. People come from miles around to eat at Bubba's. It takes weeks just to get a reservation." He huffed his nails on the front of his shirt, then held them out to admire. "Of course, if you know the right people, you don't need a reservation."

  She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a bored look. "And I suppose you're one of those people."

  He shot her a grin. "And here I was thinking you were slow. Fact is, Bubba and me, we go way back. Used to go dove hunting together when we were kids. All I gotta do is pick up the phone and we've got us a prime booth in front of the picture window that looks out over the Lampasas River." He looked down his nose at her, as if he were about to share something of great import. "And let me tell you, there's not a prettier spot on this earth than the Lampasas River at sunset."

  He smoothed a hand across the air, as if preparing to paint her a picture. "Water as clear as glass. The sun like a ribbon of fire on its surface. Trees with trunks as thick as a man's chest growing along the jagged cliffs of its banks, their limbs hanging so low, they look like fingers reaching down to dip into the water." He dropped his hand and shot her a wink. "It's a sight to see, and that's a fact."

  "Too bad I'll miss it." She flapped an impatient hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I have things to do."

  "I swear you're determined to break my heart right in two."

  "I'd worry, if I thought you had one."

  He staggered, clutching at his chest. "I hope you know CPR," he gasped. "'Cause this heart you don't believe I have just suffered a fatal blow."

  "That was your ego," she said dryly. "Not your heart."

  Scowling, he straightened. "What is it with you, anyway? I'm just trying to be nice."

  "Why?"

  He tossed up his hands in frustration. "A guy has to have a reason to be nice to a lady?"

  When she merely looked at him, he heaved a sigh, having to dig deep for the patience he was going to need to deal with her. "Look. I don't know you and you don't know me, but obviously, from what you've told us, your mother and my father had some kind of history. I'm just extending you the welcoming hand of friendship out of respect to our deceased parents."

  "Whatever relationship our parents had ended years ago and has absolutely nothing to do with either of us. I've returned the money your father gave me, so there's nothing more for us to discuss."

  "That remains to be seen."

  She narrowed an eye. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means," he said, managing to hold on to his temper by a thread. "That if your only reason in coming to Tanner's Crossing was to return the money, you'd be gone by now, as you've already done that. Yet, here you are, still hanging around town."

  "Not that it's any of your business," she informed him tersely, "but returning the money wasn't my only reason for coming to Tanner's Crossing. Up until two months ago, I thought Buck Tanner was my father. Now that I know he wasn't, I intend to find out who is." She gave him an angry shove, wrenched open the door and climbed inside. "And whether you like it or not, I'm staying in Tanner's Crossing until I do."

  "Whoa," he said, catching the door before she could slam it in his face. "Are you saying that you don't know who your father is?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying," she snapped. "Now, if you don't mind…"

  She gave the door a yank, but Rory stubbornly held on. There were tears in her eyes, but he could tell she wasn't going to let them fall. Not in front of him.

  "You said your mother died," he said, trying to sort all the facts in his head. "So obviously she either didn't want you to know who your father was or died before she could tell you." He looked at her closely, trying to decide which was the case. He found the answer in her eyes. "She didn't want you to know," he said slowly, seeing the hurt there.

  Turning her face away, she thrust the key into the ignition and started the engine. "Nice work, Sherlock. Now, unless you want to lose that arm, I'd advise you to let go of my door."

  Instead of releasing it, Rory moved in closer. "That's what you were doing in the library, wasn't it? You were searching for clues to your father's identity. Probably going through old newspapers, looking for mentions of your mother, in hopes of finding a lead."

  "You're a regular detective, aren't you? Unfortunately, my mother wasn't the type whose activities were recorded in the society section."

  "Have
you talked to your brothers or sisters about this? Maybe your mother told them more than she did you."

  She snorted a breath. "I would've if I had any. My mother didn't want children, including me."

  "So what are you going to do now?"

  She tightened her hands on the steering wheel, her determination obvious in her white-knuckled grip.

  "Check the county records. Talk to people. Someone's bound to know something."

  "I hope you're not counting on anyone in Tanner's Crossing telling you anything."

  Her eyes sharpened at the warning, then narrowed suspiciously. "Why wouldn't they?"

  "This is a small town. People here are a tight-knit group, who protect their own. A stranger comes into town and starts asking a lot of questions about the past…" He lifted his hands, as if the answer was obvious. "They aren't going to tell you what you want to know."

  He'd no sooner offered the explanation, than Rory realized that he'd just stumbled upon the excuse he needed to keep an eye on her.

  "I could help you," he offered. "I'm a Tanner. Grew up here. People trust me. My name alone will open doors that would get slammed in your face, if you were to try this on your own."

  She hesitated a moment, her brow pleated, as if considering his offer. Then she gave him a push that sent him stumbling back clear of the door. "Nice try, Romeo," she muttered. "But I don't want or need your help."

  * * *

  Rolling his eyes skyward, Rory pressed the receive button on his cell phone and brought it to his ear. "Yes, Ace, I talked to her," he said without preamble.

  "How'd you know it was me calling?"

  Rory signaled the UPS driver to stack the boxes by the door. "I'm psychic." He quickly counted the boxes, then scrawled his name across the invoice, acknowledging receipt. "And because I'm psychic," he said into the receiver, "I also know what you want and the answer is, yes. I talked to Macy, and she says the reason she's staying here is to find her real father."

  "Do you believe her?"

  Rory lifted a hand in farewell to the driver, then frowned, turning his full attention to the call. "You're awfully damn suspicious."