Texas Thunder

by Kimberly Raye

  “I don’t know. I just know that he was mumbling about hiding from the revenuers while he was digging in the garden with it.” She glanced through the kitchen window at the old man sitting on the front porch in his rocker. An untouched cup of coffee sat next to him. The groan of the rocking chair echoed as he pushed it back and forth, an empty look on his face. “Maybe tomorrow will be better and we can ask him.”

  Maybe.

  Brett grasped at the hope as he left the buckle sitting on the counter and headed for the front door. He could have easily gone out the back and avoided walking clear around the house, but he hated seeing his Pappy with that blank look and so he opted for the long way around.

  In the barn, he saddled up his horse and headed for the line of fence that separated the east pasture from the west pasture. They had holes and so he’d sent a handful of men to fix the fence earlier that morning. More than enough to handle the job while he took care of the mountain of paperwork inside the house.

  But Brett needed out of the house. To think. To breathe.

  To run.

  The truth beat at him for the rest of the day as he worked his fingers to the bone until he was so tired that he could barely breathe, much less think. By the time he led his horse into the barn, the only thing he wanted was a hot shower and a few blessed hours of sleep.

  He was halfway to the house when he spotted the sheriff sitting on the back porch, waiting for him.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Only if you’re here to tell me what the hell is going on down by the creek,” Brett said as he stepped up onto the porch. He pulled off his hat and ran a tired hand through his hair. “If you’re just going to ask questions, then forget it. I’m beat.”

  “I found the poachers.”

  Brett’s gaze snapped up. “Who?”

  “Big Jimmy Ham. We busted him and his buddies last night. They were cooking a hundred gallons out on the edge of your property. They had a pretty good spot, too. There was a cave cut into the side of that hill about a half mile up. They had everything hidden inside and the entire area around booby-trapped to hell and back. A raccoon came up on them the night you heard the gunshot. They thought they were being raided.”

  “And instead of running, they shot?”

  “It’s Big Jimmy. He doesn’t have a reputation for being the smartest ax in the toolshed.” His gaze grew serious. “It wasn’t the first time he shot at what he thought was a poacher. We found the remains of your missing cattle. I’m guessing they were watering by the creek at one time or another and spooked Ham. He shot first and realized his mistake later. Found a freezer of meat after we obtained a search warrant for his property. A mess of cash, too. He’ll be going away for a long, long time and you’ll be getting compensation for your cattle. Eventually,” Hunter added. “It has to go through the court system first, but in the end, the judge is sure to make things right.”

  The news should have sent a rush of relief through Brett. There’d been no theft. His men were in the clear.

  Talk about great news.

  It was, but it didn’t overshadow the crappy state of everything. His pappy was still sick and life still sucked.

  And so he spent his nights avoiding his pappy and his days trying to tie up loose ends at the ranch so that he could get the hell out of town and back to the one thing that was still good—his career.

  The one thing that had saved him all those years ago.

  And the only thing that would save him now.

  He accepted an offer from Les’s clients on the acreage, securing the immediate future for Bootleg Bayou, and he made several phone calls to hurry up the chemical analysis on the moonshine sample they’d found in the attic. Where Mark Edwards hadn’t managed to pull any strings with his one connection, Brett managed to push things along with his, thanks to the head of the chemistry department, who turned out to be the father of a fellow bull rider and a huge fan.

  The sample came back within the next two weeks, but the ingredients didn’t match Callie’s half and so they knew it wasn’t the original Texas Thunder. Still, it was a convincing knockoff that did garner an offer from Mark, but not nearly enough at a thousand dollars to get Callie out of debt.

  Even when Brett forfeited his share so that she could have it all.

  “You want me to give it all to Callie?” Edwards had asked him. “But you two found it together.”

  “The money is hers. She needs it more than I do,” Brett had told the man.

  Still, it wasn’t enough.

  He knew it and damned if it didn’t keep him up at night, along with all of his other problems.

  Because he loved her.

  He came to that conclusion when he walked into Haverty’s Real Estate to sign the final papers for the land sale and saw Callie for the first time since she’d walked out on him.

  She wasn’t wearing anything special—just a plain navy skirt and a cream-colored blouse—but the sight of her stalled the air in his lungs. His heart skipped a beat and just like that, he knew.

  He loved her.

  He’d always loved her.

  Not that it made one bit of difference because Callie Tucker had turned her back on him. She was the one walking away this time, and as much as he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she did any and everything he wanted, he knew he couldn’t.

  She’d given up so much for the people that she cared about, put them above and beyond her own dreams, and now it was her turn to make her own decisions. And if that meant leaving Rebel, then so be it. She deserved this chance and he wouldn’t try to stop her.

  Instead, he smiled and tipped his hat and walked past her into Les’s office as if all was right.

  As if he hadn’t lost everything in the world and his life wasn’t going to shit all around him.

  CHAPTER 30

  She wasn’t going to say anything.

  That’s what Callie told herself as she tried to focus on her computer screen and forget the all-important fact that Brett Sawyer was in the next room and he’d given up his half of the thousand dollars Mark had paid them for the semidecent moonshine they’d found in Brett’s attic.

  No, she wasn’t going to say anything even if she did appreciate the gesture. It wasn’t enough in its own right, but coupled with the secured loan they’d managed to get on Brandy’s equipment, they would be close to the mark.

  Close enough that she could go back to the bank and beg for another two-week extension.

  At least that’s what she was telling herself.

  Another two weeks and she could make up the difference and take the job offer that came in just yesterday from a small entertainment press in Austin.

  They needed a good photographer to take pictures of the various Austin bands and her tear sheets had been good enough to land a job. It wasn’t even close to an investigative journalist position, but it was a start.

  If they were willing to wait for her to wrap things up here.

  She ignored the worry that niggled at her and focused on keying in the last of a new listing that Les was working on. She’d just entered the square-footage specs when Les’s door opened and Brett walked out.

  Another tip of his hat in her direction and he passed her by. She let loose the breath she’d been holding and congratulated herself. She was home free. Another few steps and he would be out of the office. Out of her life. For good.

  “Thank you.” The words seemed to come on their own.

  He stopped and turned. His blue eyes collided with hers and her breath caught.

  So much for not saying anything.

  “I really appreciate what you did.”

  “We wouldn’t have found the moonshine if not for you. It was all your idea. I’m just sorry we didn’t come up with the actual recipe. I kept looking,” he went on, “I even found the Bible, but no recipe. Everything—all the pictures and important documents that I remembered, were gone. It was just the book.”

  “I’m so sorry.”


  He shrugged. “Don’t be. I’m sure it’s all there somewhere. Take care.” He started to turn, but she stopped him.

  “I heard they found out what happened to your cattle.”

  He nodded. “They snuck up on the Ham setup and he thought they were feds.”

  “At least you can have some peace of mind now and Big Jimmy Ham will get what’s coming to him.” And Little Jimmy won’t have to worry about getting the crap beat out of him for every little mistake. Sheriff DeMassi had told her as much when she’d asked about it in town. They’d raided the house and cleared Little Jimmy and his mother of any wrongdoing. “It wasn’t your men.” She caught her lip for a second as he stared at her, into her, and she fought the urge to press herself close.

  “Thankfully not.” An awkward silence settled before he added, “I really should get going—“

  “I got a job offer,” she blurted, the news finally bubbling over.

  Surprise lit his eyes, followed by a glimmer of excitement, and something twisted in her chest. “That’s great.”

  “It’s just a small paper in Austin, but it’s a good starting point.”

  “Austin, huh? So when do you leave?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t actually accepted it yet. I’m hoping they’ll wait for me to wrap things up here.”

  “They’ll wait,” he told her, crossing the few feet between them. “You’re that good, Callie.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet until they stood toe to toe. “They would be stupid not to wait for you.”

  She wanted to say thank you again, to tell him that he was the reason she’d sent out the tear sheets, that he’d given her the courage to do it, the drive, but when she opened her mouth he touched his lips to hers.

  Her eyes closed and she relished the soft press of his lips.

  And then, just as quickly as he’d kissed her, he pulled away. A wistful smile touched his lips, and then he turned and walked away.

  Callie took a step forward, intent on going after him, on saying something—anything—so that she could have one more moment with him. But Les’s voice stopped her.

  “Can I speak to you a second?”

  “About that—” she started, but Les pressed an envelope into her hand and the words fled. “What’s this?”

  “Pay your taxes, Callie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He motioned to the envelope. “It’s a check. Pay your taxes.”

  Confusion tugged at her expression as she stared down at the equivalent of a winning Lotto ticket. The answer to her prayers. And all because of Les.

  Her gaze snapped up and collided with his. “But I thought you couldn’t do a loan.”

  “It’s not a loan. It’s a commission.” He motioned to the window. Outside, Brett climbed into his truck and gunned the engine. “From the Sawyer sale,” he added. “It was your pictures that sold the place. You deserve the commission. Well, a percentage of it, at least. I have to get paid, too.” He nodded toward the check that she pulled free from the envelope. “But based on my talk with the bank president, I think that’s just about enough to handle most of your debt.”

  “What about Selma? Won’t she give you a hard time?”

  “She knows I couldn’t have secured the listing without you. Brett wanted you in on the deal or no deal.”

  His words echoed in her head and her lips tingled as she remembered the bittersweet kiss from moments before.

  A good-bye kiss because Callie Tucker was really and truly finally leaving.

  She tried to ignore the sudden whisper of disappointment that went through her. She should be happy. Ecstatic. This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for her entire life. Her one shot at freedom. “You know what this means, don’t you?” she said, more for herself than Les.

  “That you’ll be leaving me?” He shrugged. “I figured. For the record, though, I’m totally opposed to you going anywhere except Realtor’s school. But if that can’t happen, I want you to go to Austin and knock their socks off.”

  She cut him a surprised look. “How do you know about Austin?”

  “Who do you think gave you a recommendation? I talked to the editor a few days ago. They were hesitant because you have no newspaper experience, but then I told them how you handle all of my listings in the local paper, not to mention a massive newsletter that I send out monthly, and bam, they were willing to give you a chance.”

  “We don’t do a monthly newsletter.”

  “Not yet, but that’s next on my agenda as soon as I win Realtor of the year. Speaking of which, I need to send Tanner a fruit basket congratulating him on my sale. Just so he knows it’s a done deal.” He turned and headed back into his office. “Take an extra hour at lunch. I’m sure you need to make a trip to the bank.”

  Relief welled up through her. “Thanks, Les.”

  “Thank you.” He grinned like a child who’d nabbed the last cookie. “Tanner is going to be pissed.”

  Callie reached for her purse, the check tight in her hands, and tried to summon her own excitement.

  She should be over the moon. The moment she’d been waiting her entire life for was finally here. Time to pay the taxes and fulfill her last and final duty as caretaker of the Tucker spread, and then she could get on with her life. She could finally make her own dreams come true.

  They were right there. Within arm’s reach.

  If only that notion excited her half as much as the memory of Brett’s parting kiss.

  * * *

  She was leaving.

  The truth played over and over in Brett’s head throughout the rest of the day, but it didn’t really sink in until he he heard Karen gossiping with Dolly later that evening.

  “She got a job at a big-time paper and everything,” Karen told the older woman as she reached for a biscuit.

  Pappy sat on the opposite side of the table, his gaze fixed on his plate, silence surrounding him, pressing in and isolating him from everyone and everything. He’d been quiet for the past few hours since he’d woken up from his nap. Too quiet for Brett to gauge whether or not he was in this reality or some other from his past.

  The what if kept him from relaxing. Or so he told himself. No way was he sitting as stiff as a board, his muscles pulled tight to the point that they burned, because the one woman he loved was about to leave town for good.

  So what?

  Hell, he was leaving. He’d pulled out the contracts just that morning. They sat on the desk in the study. All he had to do was sign and call his agent with the good news. And make a phone call to his resident pain-in-the-ass Tyler McCall.

  He wanted to deliver the news himself that his distant cousin was going to be stuck in second place a little while longer.

  Especially after Tyler’s taunting phone call.

  And the zillion or so texts since, in which the man had poked and prodded and tried to get in Brett’s craw.

  No more.

  “… Mark said they paid her a nice amount for some moonshine she found and so I guess she was able to pay the taxes,” Karen went on.

  “Mark?” His sister’s words snagged his attention. “Since when do you know Mark Edwards?”

  “Since I’ve gone to lunch with him a couple of times now.”

  Brett gave her an incredulous look. “You and Edwards? Having lunch?”

  “What’s the big deal?” She shrugged. “He came here looking for you one time and found me and, well, he couldn’t not take me to lunch on account of I’m so charismatic.”

  Brett frowned. “I doubt he’s after your charisma.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That he’s male, which means that he’s got one thing on his brain when it comes to women.”

  “Which is?”

  “He wants to get into your pants.” He nailed her with a grim look. “You should stay away from him.”

  “You really think he wants in my pants?” She looked so hopeful that Brett did a double take.

&nb
sp; “And that makes you happy because?”

  “Because the child, here, just had a breakup and any woman who’s been dumped on by a man likes to know that other men find her attractive,” Dolly chimed in. “It’s a girl thing.”

  His gaze swiveled from the old woman to his sister. “You got dumped on?”

  “Up at school. He was a jerk and I was too good for him. It’s old news.” Karen waved him off. “Now about Callie … I heard her sister had to mortgage her equipment to help with the taxes, but that she was more than happy to do anything to help.”

  “That’s what family does,” Dolly said. “They dig in their heels and help each other.”

  Any other family besides the one sitting right here at this dinner table, Brett thought.

  No, this family ran from trouble. At least half of the family. Karen wasn’t running.

  She was right here.

  Good or bad.

  For better or worse.

  “… so then Margie Callaghan told Tracey Reaves who told me that Becky Sue really does want to try to make things work, but Josh is the one who can’t get his act together,” Karen went on, the talk of families obviously sparking another conversation regarding one of Rebel’s wilder clans. It seemed that Becky Sue Callahan had no hope in hell of having a family with her baby daddy Josh Wicker unless he straightened up his act and came crawling back, begging her forgiveness after getting caught with his pants down with a certain cashier at the Piggly Wiggly.

  Brett ignored the urge to change the subject back to Callie and ask for more details. Instead, he finished the last bite of his dinner, took a long pull of his iced tea and set his napkin on his empty plate. Pushing to his feet, he picked up his dish and headed for the kitchen.

  “You and Edwards?” he asked Karen when she finally followed to help load the dishwasher. “Really?”

  “Don’t get your boxers in a wad. It’s nothing serious.” She turned on the faucet and started to rinse a glass. “It just helps distract me from all the drama here.” She hauled open the dishwasher and stuffed the glass into the top rack. “Besides, Mark is good for my self-esteem. I doubt it goes anywhere, but then I’m not looking for a relationship. This is just some much-needed fun.” Her gaze slid past him to Pappy, who still sat at the kitchen table, a piece of uneaten cake in front of him. “He’s getting worse, you know—”