The Texan

by Joan Johnston

  “Is Clay involved in this VX business?” Mabry asked.

  “I don’t know,” Owen answered, though it appeared Clay was in “this VX business” up to his neck. “Are you saying I should contact Ridgeway?” he asked his boss. “Even though the two FBI men I killed worked for him?”

  “He’s the man running the show,” Mabry said. “Unless you have some reason to suspect him personally.”

  “Only guilt by association,” Owen said.

  There was another silence. “Do you think he’s involved?” Mabry asked.

  “I can’t imagine why he would be,” Owen said. “But I can’t imagine why two FBI agents who work for Paul would be, either. Any suggestions?”

  “I’ll see who I can find who might be able to give us more information on the two men you killed. Give me their names.”

  Owen recited the information from their IDs.

  “Can you tell me where those mines are, so we can put a guard on them?” Mabry asked.

  “I’d have to take you there.”

  “Call me after you talk with Ridgeway,” Captain Mabry said.

  “Then you think I should see him?”

  “There’s not much he can do to you in downtown Midland,” Mabry said.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Owen said.

  “I’ll call Ridgeway myself and have him send a car to pick you up. Tell him what you know. But watch your back.”

  “I will,” Owen said.

  “I’ll call your folks and the girl’s folks and let them know you’re okay.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Owen said and then hung up.

  “What happens now?” Bay said.

  “Captain Mabry is going to call our parents to let them know we’re all right. We’re going to the FBI office to meet with Paul Ridgeway.”

  “I want to talk to my mother,” Bay persisted.

  “What can you tell her that Mabry can’t? Do you know where Luke is?”

  Bay made a face. “What if Ridgeway is one of the bad guys?”

  “Even if he’s involved, he’s not going to be able to do a thing to us at the FBI office in Midland, especially when my boss knows that’s where we are,” Owen said. “He might very well know what’s happened to our brothers.”

  “All right,” Bay said. “I’ll go along for the ride.”

  When the government car showed up at the airport to pick them up, the driver was Paul Ridgeway himself.

  He got out of the car and said, “After I spoke with Captain Mabry I realized it would be dangerous for the two of you to show up at the FBI office in town. There might be other agents involved in this, and I don’t want to risk something happening to you. My suggestion is for you to get right back in that helicopter and fly to Alpine. I have a cabin there where you can stay until we figure out who else might be involved.”

  Owen exchanged a look with Bay. “The government doesn’t mind loaning us its helicopter?” he said dubiously.

  Ridgeway smiled. “You’ve already borrowed it once. I could arrange for a pilot, but the fewer people who know you’re alive and well, the better.”

  “Captain Mabry said—”

  Ridgeway interrupted Owen. “Mabry told me about James Brophy and Terry Watkins. You can imagine what a flap it’s going to cause when it becomes known that two FBI agents were responsible for the murder of a Texas Ranger and the theft of those VX mines. I need to make sure someone doesn’t eliminate the only two witnesses who know where all those missing mines are located.”

  “I’d rather go home,” Bay said.

  “Soon,” Ridgeway promised. “Give me a little time—twenty-four hours—to see who else in my office might be implicated.”

  Owen was watching Ridgeway, looking for some sign that he was lying, or that he knew more than he was saying. He didn’t see or hear anything that sounded suspicious. Except for sending them off in the government’s helicopter. But that could be explained using Ridgeway’s own logic. The fewer people who knew he and Bay were alive, the better.

  “Where is this cabin of yours? Can we land the helicopter there?” Owen asked.

  “Actually, you can. I can give you directions that will get you there. There’s a helipad next to the house.”

  “How rustic is this cabin?” Bay asked. “Is there a shower?”

  Ridgeway smiled. “It comes with all the modern conveniences. Except a phone.”

  Owen felt his heart pick up a beat. “No phone? How are we supposed to stay in touch?”

  “I’d offer you my cell phone, but it won’t work in those mountains. It’s only for twenty-four hours,” Ridge-way said with an apologetic smile.

  Owen wasn’t comfortable being cut off, but he had a couple of Uzis as protection, and they could still fly back out in the helicopter if they didn’t like the looks of things when they arrived. “All right,” Owen said reluctantly. “Let me call my boss and let him know where we’re going to be.”

  “Captain Mabry and I talked this over, and he agreed with my assessment of the situation,” Ridgeway said. “But if you want to call him again—” He held out his cell phone.

  When Owen hesitated, Bay took the cell phone and said, “I’d like to call my mother.”

  “By all means,” Ridgeway said.

  But when Bay tried to use the phone it read “Low Battery.”

  Could Ridgeway have planned to have a low battery? Owen met Bay’s suspicious look with a shrug. “Guess you’ll have to wait another twenty-four hours to talk with your mom.”

  “And your brother Luke,” Ridgeway added.

  Both Owen and Bay turned to stare at Ridgeway. “You know where Luke is? And Clay?”

  Ridgeway smiled. “Clay has Luke hidden away somewhere safe. You can be sure of that.”

  “His office has no idea where he is,” Owen said.

  “Think about it,” Ridgeway said. “Where would your brother go if he needed a place where no one would be likely to find him, and he wanted to keep Dr. Creed’s brother safe?”

  Suddenly, Owen knew. “You mean he’s gone to the hunting cabin at Bitter Creek? That’s perfect! But why not tell his office where he is?”

  “We have no way of knowing who we can trust,” Ridgeway said, “or how far-reaching this conspiracy is.”

  “And you’re going to figure all this out in the next twenty-four hours?” Bay asked the FBI agent skeptically.

  “The investigation is making great strides, Dr. Creed. Yes, I expect this whole matter to be concluded within the next twenty-four hours. By the way,” he said, “both Clay and my daughter have stayed at the cabin. You should both be able to find clothes they’ve left there that will fit you.”

  Owen’s suspicions about Ridgeway began to subside. Ridgeway was aware that Clay was hiding Luke at their father’s hunting cabin at Bitter Creek—something nobody else seemed to know—and Clay would only tell that to someone he completely trusted.

  Ridgeway escorted them to the helicopter. “How are you for fuel?” he asked.

  “Based on the directions you gave me, we should be fine,” Bay replied.

  “What are you planning to do about those two dead agents and the VX mines?” Owen asked.

  “They’re not going anywhere,” Ridgeway said. “We’ll take care of them once we’ve rooted out the bad seed.”

  Owen stepped into the helicopter. “How will we get in touch with you?”

  “I’ll fly in and see you,” Ridgeway said. “What time is it? Seven. I’ll be there about seven tomorrow night.”

  “Good enough,” Owen said.

  They were in the air before Owen spoke again on the headset. “I don’t know whether to trust him or not.”

  “If we’re voting, I vote not to trust him,” Bay said.

  “What did he do that makes you doubt him?”

  “Dogs run in a pack,” Bay said. “Those two Dobermans followed Ridgeway around like he was the alpha male.”

  “He knew where Clay and Luke were staying,” Owen argued.


  Bay shook her head. “You told him where Clay and Luke were staying.”

  “I did not. I—” Owen frowned as he tried to remember his conversation with Ridgeway. “Are you sure?”

  “He insinuated that he knew where they were. You confirmed the location. Will he be able to find the cabin?”

  “He can figure out where it is. A couple of U.S. presidents have stayed there. The Secret Service did security checks before they spent the night.”

  Bay shot him an anxious glance. “I’m worried, Owen. What if Ridgeway’s on his way right now to kill your brother and mine?”

  Owen grimaced and shook his head. “That would mean he’s coming after us next. If that were true, why would he give us the helicopter? I think you’re seeing monsters where there aren’t any.”

  Bay sighed. “They’re out there. We just haven’t identified them yet.”

  “Let’s go to the cabin and sit tight for twenty-four hours. Clay can take care of himself.” Owen put up a hand to stop Bay’s protest. “If Clay went to the trouble to fly Luke out of that camp, he isn’t going to let the bad guys get to him now. It’s entirely likely there’s some kind of guard on both of them.”

  Owen firmly believed what he was saying. But that crawly feeling along his spine was back. Something wasn’t quite right. He wished he could figure out what it was.

  “All I want is a long, hot bath,” Bay said. “And a soft bed.”

  Owen brushed his hand over the beard on his cheeks and chin. “I could use a shave and a hot shower. And a soft bed—with you in it.”

  “Don’t push me, Owen.”

  “You told me you never quit. Why are you quitting when it comes to us?”

  “There is no us. There can’t be an us.”

  “Too late for that argument, Red, when I’ve already been inside you.”

  “You’re a Blackthorne,” she said. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

  He looked long and hard at her, then said, “My being a Blackthorne isn’t the problem. The problem is I’m a man. And every man you’ve ever trusted has betrayed you—from your father on down.”

  “My father—”

  “Spent all his time with your crippled brother. Some boyfriend took advantage. A trusted professor did the same. I don’t suppose you’ve let anyone else get close. Until I came along. But I’m not going away, Red. I’m here to stay.”

  “Until some other woman catches your eye,” she muttered. “Like your friend’s widow.”

  “Julia? We’ve always been good friends, but there’s nothing else between us. Never has been. Never will be.”

  They arrived at the helipad, which Ridgeway had said would be lit up by a caretaker, who would also make sure the lights and hot water were on in the cabin. The helicopter was on the ground before Bay spoke again.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she conceded. “Maybe my lack of trust has nothing to do with you being a Blackthorne. But it’s there, Owen. I don’t know how to make it go away.”

  “Give me a chance. Let me prove to you—”

  “How?” Bay asked. “What can you possibly do that would make me believe I can count on you when the chips are down?”

  “I don’t know.” Owen smiled ruefully. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

  Bay met his gaze, her eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Owen. I can’t take that chance.”

  Chapter 17

  BAY SOAKED IN A TUB OF HOT WATER AT PAUL Ridgeway’s cabin for almost an hour. She’d never had a bath that felt so good.

  “Hey. Are you almost done in there?” Owen called through the door.

  “I don’t want to get out,” Bay called back.

  “Fine,” he said, opening the door and stepping into the tiny room. “I’ll be glad to join you.”

  Bay laughed. “As you can see, there isn’t room in here for two.” She was covered in bubbles. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to rinse my hair.”

  “Let me help,” Owen said, dropping to his knees on the soft shag rug beside the ancient, claw-footed tub. “Let’s see. Why don’t you lean back over my arm.”

  Bay did as he asked and a moment later Owen was cupping water from the tub with his other hand and pouring it over her soapy hair.

  “Close your eyes,” he said, “so you don’t get any soap in them.”

  It was going to take forever to rinse all the soap out of her hair if he did it a handful of water at a time, but Bay didn’t care. It felt wonderful to be supported by his arm and to feel the warm water running over her scalp.

  “There,” he said at last. “No more soap. You can open your eyes now.”

  When she did, she realized the bubbles had finally melted away, and she was completely exposed to his gaze. “Owen?”

  His gaze was tender rather than lustful, and therefore all the more threatening to her peace of mind. She could be wooed with tenderness…

  He kissed her on the nose and said, “Out. I need a bath. We can continue this later.”

  Bay willingly stepped into the large, fluffy white towel Owen held out for her. She opened the bathroom door and felt a rush of cold air from the rest of the cabin.

  “Brrr,” she said, closing it again.

  “There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace in the living room where you can warm up and dry your hair. Do you suppose there’s any hot water left?” Owen asked hopefully as the last of her bathwater drained out.

  Bay caressed his smooth cheek. “You shaved. It feels soft.”

  He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “Go,” he said, opening the bathroom door again. “Before I change my mind and you end up making love to a man who smells like a bear.”

  Bay realized what she’d done and pulled her hand back. That sort of intimacy had to stop. She inched past Owen and said, “Good luck with the hot water. I’ll see what I can do about making us a midnight snack.”

  The six-room cabin was made of logs and had pegged wooden floors and a stone fireplace, where Owen had lit a crackling fire. Bay stood in front of the fire for a moment and let it warm her before she headed for the bedroom that had obviously been used by Paul Ridgeway’s daughter Cindy. It was disturbing to find that the bedroom had been left exactly as it must have looked more than a year before, when Cindy Ridgeway had been murdered.

  There were still tubes of lipstick on a dressing table, and a Tami Hoag novel beside the bed with a page marked where Cindy had stopped reading. The room was full of ribbons Cindy had won barrel racing in rodeo competitions as well as two college debate trophies. Apparently, Cindy had been both athletic and smart. Which only made sense, if she’d attracted a successful, intelligent man like Clay Blackthorne.

  Bay felt like an intruder going through Cindy’s drawers, but she found underwear, a pair of jeans that fit almost to a T, and a sweatshirt that negated the need for a bra. She pulled on a pair of boot socks but didn’t bother putting on her boots. She’d seen a diary in the underwear drawer but resisted the urge to peek into the life of the woman whose room she occupied—though she was definitely curious.

  Bay nosed around the room, picking up pieces of Cindy Ridgeway’s life and putting them back down. A tiny figurine of a quarter horse, mane and tail flowing. A Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders calendar with important dates marked leading up to her wedding. A framed picture of Cindy and Clay, both smiling, both looking extraordinarily happy. It shook Bay for a second, because Clay looked so much like Owen.

  There were differences. In the eyes. Clay had seen a different world than Owen, she supposed. And in the smile. Clay’s smile looked more open and friendly than Owen’s. The couple looked happy together. She felt sorry the girl’s life had been cut short.

  Bay picked up a book that featured Western artists, sculptors, and photographers, wondering whether Owen’s mother might be featured in it. According to the index, one of Eve Blackthorne’s oil paintings was included in the book.

  Bay was searching for page 42 when Owen showed up in the doorway. She didn’t hear him coming;
he was simply there. “Oh, you frightened me,” she said, clutching the book to her chest.

  He was wearing a pair of jeans with a crease pressed into them, a ratty maroon Texas A&M sweatshirt, and a pair of white boot socks. “What do you have there?” he asked.

  She laid the oversized book down across her forearms so he could see. “It’s a collection of Western artists. Your mother’s in here. I was going to look at her painting.”

  “Later,” he said, closing the book. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

  Bay carried the book with her to the kitchen and laid it on the tile counter. “What are you in the mood for?”

  “What’s in the fridge?” Owen asked, pulling open the door. “Uh. Not much in here. Guess Paul didn’t have a chance to stock it.”

  Bay went through the cupboards. “There’s tomato soup. And crackers.”

  “Guess that’ll have to do,” Owen said. “What I wouldn’t give for a juicy hamburger.”

  “Tomorrow,” Bay said. “We’ll be out of here in twenty-four hours.”

  Neither of them had much interest in the soup. It was too similar to the military rations they’d been eating. A half hour later they headed for the overstuffed corduroy couch in front of the fireplace. Bay had brought the book of paintings with her.

  Owen took it away from her again and set it on the brown-and-white-spotted cowhide that served as a rug. “Later,” he said. “I want to sit here for a while and put my feet up.”

  A couple of dark brown corduroy ottomans stood in front of the couch, and Owen plopped down and put his feet up. He patted the couch beside him. “Have a seat, Red.”

  Bay plopped down beside him, putting her feet up on the same ottoman he was using. “This definitely beats those benches at the camp.”

  Owen leaned over and sniffed her hair.

  “What are you doing?” she said, leaning away and staring at him.

  “Smelling your hair. It smells like coconut.”

  “Compliments of Cindy Ridgeway. It must have been really sad for your brother to lose her like he did.”