by Jodi Linton
“What’s it to you?” I began, but lost my train of thought at the sight of the truck tagged with a white and green Bovine Health Services sticker pushing twenty our way. I’d like to say I didn’t give a hoot that Gunner felt the need to poke his nose in Pistol Rock business. But damn I did. My fiancé was approaching us in that red Dodge Ram. I let out an exacerbated sigh and watched the driver’s door fly open.
Nathan had taken over the local veterinarian practice, Bovine Health Services, after our previous vet, Dr. Beasley, died three years back. I’d met him at the Piggly Mart when our carts crashed into each other. He had asked me where the ketchup aisle was. Two months later, I was engaged. Hard to believe I’d be moving to Dallas after we said “I do”, but still, maybe a fresh start would help mend old wounds. Timing could be such a bitch. Gunner kicking up a cloud of dust this close to my nuptials had really put a hitch in my plans.
Nathan smiled at me, pulled his vet kit out from the truck bed, and walked on over.
“Hi, honey. Heard there’s a few dead cows,” he said kissing me.
I shifted uncomfortably and peered a look Gunner’s way. He was twirling a piece of hay around his tongue and slowly dropping his gaze over Nathan. His eyes narrowed, and then he stuck out his hand.
“Texas Ranger Gunner Wilson. You’ve probably heard of me.”
Nathan reached awkwardly over his equipment to shake Gunner’s hand. “Don’t think I have.”
Gunner’s eyebrow’s raised half an inch. He spit the hay into the dirt and shot to a stand. “You mean Laney here hasn’t told you about us?”
Nathan gave me a narrow-eyed look that let me know he was pissed. I shrugged and pushed the brim of my hat back, shuffling from one boot to the other and crossing my arms over my chest. Damn it, I thought, I don’t have time for this bullshit.
“Nathan, this is Gunner Wilson, an old friend of mine.”
“An old friend,” Gunner snorted. “Hell, Laney, you shot me in the ass.” He scowled at Nathan. “I bet you’re even sleeping in my old bed.”
I desperately tried to keep my cool. Instead, I lost it. “How dare you claim Aunt Faye’s house or anything in it is fucking yours,” I said tightly.
Gunner pinched the brim of his hat, narrowing his dark eyes at me. “You told me you didn’t want me around,” he said mildly.
“Damn you, Gunner Wilson!”
The hard line that had earlier outlined Gunner’s mouth softened as he looked on me with pain-streaked eyes. There’d been a helluva lot more between us than a shotgun load of rock salt and me finding him in our bed with another woman—even after five years, the wound was so raw I thought it would never heal. I sure as hell didn’t want to touch it. I turned and stepped back from the ridiculous fight, glancing at Nathan. He’d cautiously begun to ease a few steps backward from Gunner and me. Never let it be said the man liked to confront an issue head on. That was one of the things that made me gravitate toward him when we met—that don’t ask, don’t tell attitude. Watching him trying to leave me instead of…oh, hell, I didn’t know. But it did make me start to wonder what else he’d back away from when we were married.
I grabbed his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Nathan picked up the black tote bag he dropped and headed toward Dobbs, who was hunched over a stiff cow. “Don’t mind me. I just came to stick my arm up a cow’s butt.”
Stony-faced, I watched him leave, then spun back on Gunner. “You have problems,” I told him.
“Only one,” he said, and pushed past me, shouldering me hard.
For lack of a better option, I fell in line behind him, hating myself for gawking at his tight ass even though I could barely stand him. Dobbs was swatting flies out of his face when we both approached while Nathan rolled a used latex glove off his hand. I’d watched him do this very thing plenty of times before and thought nothing of it—or tried to. This time, especially with Gunner here, the whole idea of where that gloved hand had been just made me squirm. While Nathan wandered off to see, I assumed, if he could spot any reason that so many cows died at once, I watched Gunner strut on over to the dead cows and kneel next to Pacey’s corpse. He peered into the dead boy’s eyes and stood back up, dusting off his jeans. “Looks like the cow tipping party didn’t go as planned,” he observed.
I leaned over the cow shrouding Pacey’s mangled body for a look at his crushed skull. There was a gash in it the width of a horseshoe. Murder then. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Nathan walking our way. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his arm was wet, and he had a plastic bag and syringe in hand.
“This was in the watering tanks.” He waved the bag at me.
Gunner reached out and snagged it before I had a chance. He stuck a finger inside, sniffed, and quickly jerked the bag away. “I’ll be damned. That’s poison parsley.” He tugged at his belt buckle and directed his attention at Luke. “Looks like the sort of stupid prank you used to pull in school, Wagner,” he said, “so start talking.”
“Hell, I’m just an innocent bystander. That raving lunatic over there”— Luke flicked his thumb at Bosley—“is the one who shot at me when all I did was ride over to check on Four Spurs cows.”
“Innocent my ass,” Bosley said as he heaved himself up from his spot in the dirt, mumbling to himself. I’d known Bosley Conrad my whole life. I’d seen him chop off a rattlesnake’s head with just a machete during a rattlesnake roundup without batting an eye, but right now, he was sweating more than a hog on the chopping block. He was truly anxious.
“Calm down—” I began, but Bosley was already charged up worse than a long haul trucker at an adult video store. Yelling, he rushed at Luke. Since I was standing between them, I stuck out a boot. Bosley tripped and planted his face in the dirt. He pushed himself up, spitting out muck.
“God damn it, Laney,” he heaved himself upright and lunged at me with open fists. I stepped out of the way of the punch, grabbed him by the arm, and twisted it around his back, making the damn man bite the dirt again. I pressed a knee into the small of his back and flicked open my cuffs. “I thought you said you weren’t going to arrest me.” Bosley looked at me, dumbfounded.
I shrugged. “You assaulted a sheriff’s deputy. Things change.”
I slapped a pair of cuffs on him and started to haul him off toward my cruiser. I still couldn’t fathom the idea of Bosley Conrad being capable of murder. But since I’d been a deputy, I’d found that folks had secrets. There were a lot of skeletons in the closets around Pistol Rock.
“Here, I’ll take ’im,” Gunner said, slipping up behind me. He took Bosley’s arm and ushered him into the backseat of the Yukon and slammed the door shut.
I was mindlessly gazing at Gunner cracking his neck and wondering why in hell I’d just let him hijack my collar when a hand fell on my shoulder, startling me. I spun around to find Nathan patiently standing behind me.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, using his fingers to slide a stray lock of hair off my face. “I have a few patients I need to check in on.” He looked at Gunner, then laid one hell of a kiss on me. “I love you, Laney,” he declared loud enough for everyone to hear.
Then he got behind the wheel of his Dodge and pulled away. I stared after him open-mouthed, wishing I had the nerve to wipe away that clearly territorial kiss. Nobody owned me, whether I wore their ring or not. And that meant Gunner.
I turned to nip whatever snide comment he might make in the bud, but caught him watching Nathan go with an odd look on his face before turning to me. Then all he said was, “I’ll see you back at the station, Laney.” He winked and tipped his hat, then slid into the front seat of the Yukon and backed it out of the drive, raising a cloud of dust.
After touching base with Sheriff Dobbs and Elroy, I jumped behind the wheel of the old cruiser. It puttered and choked to a start. I clipped the iron gate with the side mirror as I flew past the entrance and gunned it toward the sheriff station. I’d just been fed a spoonful of horseshi
t by Gunner Wilson. The damn prick caught me off guard. He really knew how to get under my skin.
Chapter Two
Downtown Pistol Rock had unofficially been declared a historic site by our mayor, Kirby Dearborn. He’d spent a weekend out in Marfa and come back claiming he could turn the tiny town into another west Texas tourist attraction because we had the mechanical bull from Urban Cowboy at our local bar. Kirby’s plan hadn’t played in his favor. Mostly vacant storefronts spanned the two lane highway that shot through the center of town. A buzzard could take its time finishing some road kill before a car interrupted its meal.
I switched on the cruiser’s radio and flipped to one of the country music channels. “All My Exes Live in Texas” spilled out of the scratchy speakers. I’d just begun to sing along when my front fender clipped something on the empty road.
“Well, shit.” I slammed on the brakes, threw the car into park, and stepped out into the dry air.
The sun glared in my eyes. I squinted. Yep, I thought, that’s definitely Boomer Copley sitting on my bumper. I was not surprised. I had been best friends with Boomer since second grade. When he came back from the army six years ago after being honorably discharged, he picked up the bottle, and to this day, hasn’t put it down. Wandering aimlessly and being the town drunk was his specialty.
Boomer, like always, was wearing tan coveralls and a navy blue trucker hat squished down on top of his red curly hair.
“Boomer, are you hurt?” I asked.
He smiled. Then he slipped off the fender and onto the asphalt.
“Heeey thar… Laney,” he slurred. “Nope. I ain’t hurt. Ev’ry thang looks pretty much intact. You just grazed me.” Boomer knocked his left knee with a fist.
I pulled the brim of my hat down, pushed my holster to the back of my jeans, and took a seat next to him. “Long night at the Saloon?” I asked, giving him a rundown with my eyes.
He burped. “’Scuse me. I jus’ woke up over yonder. Can ya b’lieve Rusty jus’ leaving me out there by the Dumpster?” He sighed, blowing the smell of stale beer in my face. Had I not leaned away a few inches, I would have found myself hunched over on the side of the road like a freshman co-ed after her first frat party keg stand.
“Do you need a ride?” I searched his perplexed face.
“Thanks, Laney, but I was heading for coffee.”
“Okay, but you owe me a drink for denting my cruiser.”
“Deal,” he winked and cautiously picked up his left foot and took a lurching step.
Wincing, I watched him stumble across the pavement and smack into the stop sign pole. He looked okay, since he waved afterwards. I shook my head and got back under way. Three minutes later, I chugged up to the station. The black Yukon that had driven Elroy and Dobbs out to Bosley’s was already there. Great, Gunner had beaten me back to town. I yanked the visor down to look in the mirror. Lipstick had smeared across my teeth, and bubbles of sweat covered my nose. Thank God I was wearing a hat. I scratched the red gunk from my front teeth, wiped my nose clean, and stepped out of the car.
The Pistol Rock sheriff station was a wretched-looking place with a grimy, double pane window offering up a spectacular view of the empty street. White-washed walls that were now turning yellow from neglect surrounded the square, main room. Metal beams spanned the length of the beige, square-tiled ceiling, cutting off circulation from the dying air conditioner. I approached the desk that had only been mine for the past four years, six months, two weeks, and three days since I’d left my job teaching kindergarten at Bluebonnet Elementary. Not that I’d kept count. Well, actually, I exaggerate. I was fired from Bluebonnet after I popped that rock salt into Gunner’s sinfully sweet, jeans-hugging ass for reasons I’d managed to avoid thinking about for months—and I had no plans to start thinking about them again, ever.
But that was the past. Now, instead of construction paper and crayons, the top of my desk held a crinkled square of butcher paper wrapped around a half-eaten meatloaf sandwich. When I called for backup, I guess Elroy’s lunch got interrupted. I rolled up the edges of the wrapper and tossed it in the trash. He had popped the tab on a can of Dr Pepper. I picked it up and gave it a shake. I heard it fizz, so I took a sip.
A racket from out back in the station’s jail area caught my attention. I drew my gun and headed that way at the same time Gunner rounded the corner and smacked into me. “What the hell…?” I said, trying to back away from him.
Gunner was having none of that. He grabbed my arms to keep me from reeling backward and pulled me into him. “Hey, Laney,” he rumbled in that deep-as-midnight voice of his. “So how about we grab a bite to eat?”
I gave him a funny look and looked toward where the ruckus was coming from. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea when it sounds like all hell is breaking loose in the back. Besides, I have a meatloaf sandwich waiting for me.”
Gunner cast a glance in the direction of the cells and laughed; the sound echoed through the tiny space. “That? Oh, that’s nuthin’, sweetheart. Just Bosley being ornery.” He wrapped a hand around my wrist. “C’mon, Laney, I don’t think that thing you call a boyfriend—what’s his name?—can object to you eating lunch.”
Before I could protest or say “Nathan” or even holster my weapon, I was tugged out the door in his wake. He hustled us on down the sidewalk to the Whistling Wind Café while I attempted to jam my gun away, shade my eyes from the sun, and stay on my feet all at once.
The Whistling Wind was the only eatery in town without a drive-thru. Pale cream walls were decorated with black and white pictures of Pistol Rock landmarks and the town folks chowing down inside the restaurant. Mable Dilby was the little, old church lady who owned the café. She had the mouth of a sailor and made pie crust good enough to make a bishop kick in a stained-glass window.
Gunner pulled opened the door. “This oughta be interesting.”
Interesting was an understatement. The last time people saw the two of us together, he was filling out paper work to have me arrested for trying to skin his hide. Eventually, he’d dropped the charges, left his post in nearby Odessa, and moved to Houston without a word.
All twelve costumers eyeballed us as we took the only open table smack dab in the middle of the café. I heard a couple forks dropping on plates. Chairs were scooted about for a better view, sounding like fingernails being run down a chalk board. Everyone started whispering and murmuring, except for Miss Stevens who deliberately spoke above all the chatter.
“Does Nathan know she’s hanging out with Gunner Wilson? She’s fixing to get married.” She scowled at me, her chin disappearing into her fat neck.
I shot her a berating eye while rubbing my gun. Miss Stevens quickly began to fork her chicken salad into her mouth. Gunner pulled out my chair. Even though we had our differences he could still be a gentleman.
“So what’s good around here,” he asked, eyeing the menu.
I snorted and immediately regretted it. “I guess being away for five years causes your memory to lapse.”
“You could say that,” he winked and flapped his menu closed.
That wink was deadlier than a Krispy Kreme donut to a woman’s waistline. I should know. It’d pinned my back against the wall a time or two. And he even had the indecency to give me one of his lazy, cowboy grins. I felt my cheeks flame and my panties grow damp. If he kept undressing me with those lethal, brown eyes I was going to melt in my chair. I sucked in some air and looked down at the cracked vinyl table cloth. Who did Miss Stevens say I was marrying again?
“Well, the burgers are still okay,” I managed.
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
I winced an insincere smile at him and shrank back in my chair. Gunner relaxed into his and propped his boots up on the edge of the table until Ruby Jenner appeared and plopped two glasses of sweet tea in front of us. She was a senior in high school, and had told everyone numerous times that she intended to get out of this hell hole as soon as possible.
“
Gunner Wilson?” she said, smiling so big it showed through her black rimmed glasses.
He stood up and gave her a hug. “Little Ruby Jenner. How you doing?”
“Didn’t know the two of you were back to together.” Ruby’s grin widened, showing off her braces.
I spewed a stream of tea across the red checkerboard tablecloth. “We’re not,” I choked, squirming.
“That’s what she thinks,” Gunner said, giving me a sly wink.
“Yeah.” Ruby laughed and took our orders. She slipped me a giddy smile and bounced her red pigtails off to the next table.
I shifted at the unsettling feeling of all the eyes burning into my back. “Gunner, you mind explaining why you’re back in town?”
He twisted a straw between his fingers. “To drive you crazy? Admit it, you’ve thought about me, right?” His voice ran dark and smooth.
I wiggled my ring finger in front of his nose. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m getting married.”
“I don’t think it’ll last.”
I scowled at him. I knew I shouldn’t, but I asked anyway, “Why, if I may ask?”
“He’s a pansy, and you’re more a sucker for the rotten type.”
“Like you?” I asked sourly.
He grinned and shrugged. “Maybe so. You gotta admit, I’m a damn sight more interesting than necropsy boy, for sure.”
I glared at him and slid deeper into my seat.
In no time, Ruby showed up with our burgers and asked if we needed anything else, giggling the whole time. Okay, I wasn’t going to live this lunch date down for a while—especially since the whole town was privy to our history. It was a load of rock salt, for pity’s sake, nothing to twist your panties over—especially not in Pistol Rock. I took a bite of my burger and wiped the grease away with a napkin.
“So are you going to tell me why you’re here or not?” I asked through a mouthful of food.
Giving me an ‘if I gotta’ look, Gunner set down his burger and leaned over the table. Voice unusually low, he said, “We got a tip a couple of months ago that ketamine was being moved through this neck of the woods.” He raised an eyebrow. “You know…Special K.”