THE BADDEST BRIDE IN TEXAS

by Maggie Shayne

  "I know it is." Stupid reply. She should have said, "I thought you hated my guts. Best keep right on hating them, Adam." But no. No Brand alive would treat a woman badly when she was facing this kind of trouble. Not even when that woman was her.

  Hawkins was at the station when they arrived, gray suit impeccable, white hair unruly. He had a quiet dignity about him that Kirsten had always liked. A dignity that shone through even here, in a dingy, cluttered office with papers and files and empty throwaway cups strewn over every available inch of space. Wastebaskets overflowed; a watercooler gurgled; coffee rings marred manila folders and typed sheets. Uniformed men and women bumped and brushed one another as they hurried back and forth. In the midst of it all, Hawkins stood. Like a throwback to Mark Twain. A sweet Southern gentleman, an aging cavalier. He sent her a gentle smile that was condolence, affection and encouragement all at once, even before he made his way amid crisscrossing bodies toward her. She trusted him, even though he had been Joseph's attorney since the dawn of time, as far as she knew. She trusted him because he'd been her father's friend, even before all of that. And he still visited her dad in that Dallas nursing home every chance he got. That made him trustworthy in her book. Anyone who loved her father…

  "Hello, Kirsten," he said, clasping her hands in his powder-soft, wrinkled ones. "Are you all right?" His pale blue eyes were dull. He smelled of camphor.

  "I've been better, Stephen."

  He looked past her, nodded to Garrett, then looked puzzled as he recognized Adam.

  "Right in here, folks," a ranger called, and he held open a door. Beyond it she could see a dim room, a bare table, a couple of hard-looking chairs.

  She swallowed hard, took a step forward. Adam moved up beside her and fell into step. And for a second it felt incredibly reassuring to let herself think he would be in that little interrogation room with her. Then she asked herself what the hell she was doing.

  A cop slapped a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Just the lady and her lawyer, amigo."

  Adam stopped, and for just an instant he met her eyes. He drew his gaze away so quickly she almost couldn't read what was going on in his mind. And then it clicked into place, and she blinked in surprise. It was a question she'd glimpsed in his eyes just now. My God, he wanted to know if he should insist on coming in there with her. Fight his way in, if need be. And she knew he would, if she so much as nodded an affirmation. He'd get in, too. There were two Brand men in this station, not one alone. Garrett would back his brother up, right or wrong, the way one Brand always backed another one up no matter what. And against two determined Brands, this station full of Texas Rangers wouldn't stand a chance.

  She had no right to ask for their help or their support. Not after what she'd done to them. And letting herself get dependent on any Brand now—especially Adam—would be a huge mistake.

  She spoke to Adam, drawing his gaze back to hers again. "I've been looking out for myself for a long time now, Adam. I'll be fine." He didn't look convinced. She could have kicked herself for leaning on him, even a little bit. Hell, if she started looking like a lady in distress, he would get the idea it was time to mount up and come to the rescue. She knew him too well. "Besides," she added in as cool a tone as she could manage, "this really isn't your problem."

  "Or my business, right?" he asked, interpreting her words just the way she'd wanted him to.

  "You said it. I didn't."

  Stephen Hawkins took her elbow in a gentle grip and escorted her into the room. She sat down at the empty table and glanced toward the door just before it closed. Adam stood there looking at her, his brows bent. But the frown wasn't angry. It was puzzled, curious … searching. And that was not good.

  Adam paced. Garrett caught him on one of his repetitive trips back and forth across the width of the station's makeshift waiting room—a cubicle with three plastic chairs and a coffeepot—and stopped him by stepping into his path.

  "So, this is … what? Your impression of a fellow being completely over the woman who jilted him? The one he claims he doesn't even like?"

  Adam went still, looked up at his brother. "Being over her doesn't mean I want to see her railroaded if she's innocent."

  "Hell, Adam, I don't want to see that, either. But I'm 'not wanting' it from a chair by the wall, instead of wearing a path in the floor. You wanna join me, or would you rather keep the boys in the other room guessing?"

  Adam glanced through the glass. Several rangers quickly looked away and made themselves busy, but it was obvious they'd been watching him. Probably found it interesting that the brother of a local sheriff was so wrought up about their number-one suspect in a murder. A big murder. The murder of a Texas millionaire.

  "Do you think she did it?" Adam asked his brother, ignoring the speculative eyes in the next room, carefully avoiding Garrett's question as well as his implication.

  "Hell, no," Garrett answered without missing a beat. Then he frowned. "Do you?"

  Adam didn't think she'd done it, but he wasn't sure if that was because he knew her so well, and knew she was incapable of murder, or because he was believing what he wanted to believe. He didn't quite trust his judgment where Kirsten was concerned. After all, he'd been pretty damned wrong about her once before.

  About as wrong as a man could be.

  "Do you?" Garrett persisted.

  "Hell, I don't know what to think."

  "Shoot, Adam, you know damn well Kirsten would never kill anybody." Garrett sounded as if he were heading into his big-brother mode. A lecture might follow any minute now. He'd taken on the role of father figure pretty seriously all those years ago. On that day that still haunted Adam the way it haunted them all. The day seventeen-year-old Garrett Brand had to tell his kid brothers and his baby sister that their mama and daddy wouldn't be coming home anymore. He'd done a hell of a job, keeping them together. Raising them. Running the ranch. A hell of a job. And if he still saw himself as the Brand patriarch, even now that his siblings were all grown up, that was fine by Adam.

  But he could do without one of Garrett's lectures just now. "Do you think they'll arrest her?" He asked the question partly because he knew it would distract his brother. Mostly, though, he wanted to know. The thought of Kirsten behind bars bothered him more than it ought to. A lot more.

  "Not just yet. They'll run the bullet through ballistics first, check out Cowan's will, question the household staff. They'll want to be sure they have a solid case before they charge her with anything. Hell, she might just be the richest woman in the county before too long. They won't want to make any mistakes on this one."

  "Unless she was telling the truth about the will," Adam said. Garrett led him toward the row of chairs, and Adam reluctantly sat down. "Why would he write his own wi—" Adam choked on the word, drew a breath, started over. "Why would he write her out of his will, Garrett?"

  "I don't have a clue." Garrett looked him straight in the eye. "And I don't think you're doin' yourself any good by speculating on that. Or even by being here, for that matter. Why don't you go on home, Adam?"

  It was a damned good question. Adam just shook his head. "I can't."

  "Do I want to know why?"

  "Hell, Garrett, I don't know why."

  Garrett sighed in a way only a worried older brother could manage. "I just hope you know what the hell you're doing."

  "I always know what I'm doing, don't I?" Right. He never acted without a plan. Without a reason. Without a clear goal in mind, and a set plan to go about achieving it. He'd wanted a wife, a life in Texas and enough capital to buy a ranch of his own and convert it into the dude ranch he and Kirsten used to dream of. He'd used his gift with numbers to get a degree, used the degree to get decent-paying jobs at local banks, and used the jobs to put aside the money for the ranch. He'd wooed and won the girl of his dreams, set the wedding date and they'd been well on their way.

  Kirsten had tossed an unforeseen curveball at him by not showing up for the wedding. It had thrown him for a loop, but he'd
recovered. His goals had changed, though. He'd decided he didn't want a wife or a dude ranch anymore. He wanted to get as far from Texas as possible, and he wanted to make a lot of money. And he set about doing both those things.

  But the money hadn't made him feel any better about being jilted for a rich old man. And being in New York had served only to disconnect him from his family—his lifeline. So, a few minor adjustments and he was home again. And his goals were again altered. He was going to stay in Quinn and start his own business. Not a dude ranch, because that had been foolish from the start. A nice safe business, financial planning. He would be a consultant. He would continue making large sums of money, but he would do it right here in Kirsten's face. Not that her proximity had any bearing on it. And while he was at it, he would prove to his family—to this entire town—that he was over her.

  And maybe he would prove it to himself while he was at it.

  He didn't suppose being here with her right now was doing a hell of a lot to further either of those last two goals, was it?

  His brother's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "You want some more coffee?"

  Adam glanced at the crushed foam cup in his clenched fist. "I think I've had a gallon already. And the stuff is like battery acid." Sighing, he glanced at the door. "How much longer can they possibly keep her in there?"

  The door opened, as if in answer to his question. Adam met Kirsten's eyes and felt that mule kick him in the gut once again. She looked all in. Her face was damp, and her sweat had thinned the makeup out so he could see through it now, to the paleness of her skin. A few tendrils of her doe-brown hair stuck to her forehead, and there was a wide, scared sort of look about her eyes. The cool, collected rich-bitch routine had vanished like a dandelion seed in a stray breeze. He glanced down at her hands automatically. Limp at her sides. Lifeless. At least they weren't sporting a pair of steel cuffs.

  "I'll bring you a copy of Joseph's will this afternoon, Ranger Evans," Hawkins was saying. "I only wish my memory were better, so I could have simply told you what was in it. But it has been some time since I've examined that particular document."

  The ranger looked skeptical. "Don't leave town, Miz Cowan," he said. "We'll be wanting to talk to you again real soon."

  "I can hardly wait," she said, her words cool, icy, despite the heat in the room. Surprising, that sharp tone, coming from a woman who looked as wrung out as she did. Maybe she didn't realize that her disguise had melted away. Maybe she thought she still looked the part. But she didn't. And the bite to her words got lost in the vulnerability of her face.

  Adam moved toward her, responding to that vulnerability the way he always had.

  She held up a hand and stopped him cold. "No. Stephen is driving me home. Thank you both for coming and waiting and … everything. But I'll be fine."

  Right. And pigs would fly. Adam spoke without forethought. "You can't seriously think I'm going to … we're going to let you go back to that mausoleum alone," he said.

  She turned her frosty gaze on him—or tried to. But it wasn't quite all snow and ice anymore. It was exhaustion, emotional and physical. And fear and uncertainty. Maybe even a hint of desperation. And for the first time, Adam thought maybe the rest of it was all just one big act. What if it was? Not just now, but all the time? What if she hadn't really changed at all deep down inside, underneath the polish and the ice?

  "That's exactly what I think," she said in answer to his question. "I haven't been charged with anything, and I have every right to go home if I want to."

  "Not alone."

  She met his gaze, held it. Hers wavered first, and she lowered her head. "Alone is something I need right now. Try to understand that, would you, Adam? I've just lost my husband."

  The barb sank deep. Like a hot brand in his chest. He didn't think he flinched, but he might have. Just for an instant he let those words hurt. But the hurt didn't stop him from replying, logically, calmly. "The killer could come back."

  "He's right, Kirsten," Garrett interjected. "You are the only one who saw him."

  "I couldn't identify him if he were standing in front of me," she said. "I told you, he had a mask … and the police have his gun. I'll be perfectly safe."

  "You're right," Adam said. "You will."

  Garrett searched his face. So did Kirsten. But he said no more. He just tipped his hat her way and headed out of the place.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Kirsten didn't like it. She mulled over Adam's strange behavior all the way back to Quinn. But as she rode beside Stephen Hawkins in the comfortable leather seat of his car, she had no idea what to make of it. She only knew Adam was up to something, and she didn't like it one bit. She'd ripped the man's life to shreds twice now. For crying out loud, hadn't he had enough? Well, he wasn't going to get dragged into this mess. He wasn't. She wouldn't let him. Not this time.

  "I have something to tell you," the aging attorney said softly. "And I'm afraid it isn't good news, Kirsten."

  Stephen Hawkins drove too slowly. Then again, driving fast had been one bad habit she'd broken long ago. Not in time, though. Maybe creeping home at a snail's pace was some not-so-subtle reminder from the great beyond of what had gotten her into this nightmare to begin with. A reminder that if she did wind up serving a life sentence for murder, it would be no more than she deserved.

  God, the irony was almost laughable.

  "Kirsten?"

  "Yes." She turned in her seat to face the older man. "I heard you. What is it?"

  "It's about … Joseph's will."

  She almost sighed in relief. "Don't worry, Stephen. I know he didn't leave me anything. I honestly never expected him to."

  Stephen's Adam's apple swelled when he swallowed. "I wish … that were true. Kirsten, I lied to the rangers back there. I thought … well, I thought you might need some time. And that maybe within a day or two, other clues might surface … clues pointing to someone else. But I'm going to have to let them see Joseph's will, and I'm afraid that when they do…" His voice trailed off. He focused on the road and shook his head slowly.

  "When they do … what?"

  "Kirsten … Joseph came to me a month ago … to change his will."

  She blinked. "Change it … in what way?"

  "He named you his sole heir. You get everything, Kirsten. The estate. The holdings. All told … around twenty-three million in assets, give or take—"

  "That's not possible." She stared at Stephen's profile, the sagging skin under his jaw, the honest blue eyes. "Stephen, he wouldn't … why the hell would he? He detested me!"

  "He was a fool," Stephen said. "Maybe he realized that … decided to try to make up for—"

  "Bull! My God, it's as if that bastard is reaching out from beyond the grave. As if he's trying to pull me down with him." She pressed her hands to her temples as tears stung at her eyes. "When they see the will, they'll have their motive, won't they, Stephen? They'll arrest me, charge me with murder. Won't they?"

  He licked his lips. "Not … necessarily. The gun might provide evidence that someone else was responsible for Joseph's death. And the forensics team will have gone over the house by now. They may have found something there that…" He didn't finish. His words held little conviction.

  Kirsten watched the mansion come into view long before they neared the driveway, rising up on the horizon like a dragon. And the gate, tall and iron and so pretentious with its gothic J on one side and the matching C on the other. The black gate was like a set of prison bars to her. The paved private lane that wound through it and up to the house, a path of despair. Even the tall, steep-roofed garage beside the place looked grim to her embittered eyes. Room enough for Joseph's small fleet of cars in the bottom, and a huge, luxurious apartment for his driver on the second floor. She ought to burn it all to the ground. She hated this house. It had been no more than a glittering, gleaming prison to her. She glanced again at Stephen. "What do you think?" she asked, for some reason d
riven to know. "Do you think I did this—shot Joseph?"

  "Of course not."

  But he said it too quickly. And she didn't think she believed him. And then she knew she didn't when he added, "And to tell you the truth, Kirsten, if you had, I wouldn't blame you for it."

  She closed her eyes. He thought she'd done it. Not for the money, but because he knew what a bastard Joseph had been. Most people knew that about him. So who the hell was going to believe her?

  Only one person that she could think of. And she couldn't depend on Adam Brand to help her through this.

  Adam and Garrett crossed the wide front porch, walked through the creaking screen door and were promptly met by three pairs of curious eyes and a barrage of questions. Ben, as big as Garrett, was typically quiet. His eyes spoke his concern for his brother, and a big hand on Adam's shoulder said he would help if he could.

  A long time ago, Ben and Penny, and Adam and Kirsten had been a foursome. Inseparable. Things had changed. Adam was still as close to his brother as ever, and he loved Ben's wife, Penny, like a sister. But Kirsten had become his worst enemy. Penny still loved her, though. Ben, too, in his big, gentle way. Penny's eyes were red rimmed now, her voice soft.

  "Is it true, Adam?" she asked. "Where is Kirsten? I've been calling all day, but there's been no answer. Is she okay?"

  Adam looked at Garrett, sent him an unspoken plea. He didn't want to go over all this again. Not now.

  "I'll fill you all in," Garrett said, not letting him down. None of his brothers would ever let him down. If there was one thing he could depend on, it was that simple fact. Garrett sent Adam a nod, telling him to go on, do what he had to. Adam had a feeling his brother already knew what that was.

  Adam started across the room, heading for the stairs as Garrett spoke. "Kirsten's fine. Shaken, but fine. For now. She might be a suspect in Cowan's murder, though. She's been at the rangers' station in El Paso most of the day, but she's home now and—"