* * *
Eden looked up at Zach with big green eyes. “Please, can I come with you? I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t bother you a single bit.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her, though he didn’t blame her for wanting to come out with him instead of being cooped up with their long-time cook, the no-nonsense and even less fun Miss Althea, while his mama rested. But bored as Eden might be at home, he wasn’t about to take a four-year-old with him to help supervise the cowboys as they resumed the dirty, sometimes dangerous work of separating out the older calves from the herd, now that the storm was over.
For one thing, he knew the tenderhearted four-year-old would burst into tears once she figured out the mama cows were bawling for their babies. But even more, he needed time to think through this situation with his mother and their unwelcome visitor. Wishing he had never set eyes on Jessica Layton, he gently unwrapped Eden’s arms from his leg and said, “I’m going to expect an excellent report from Miss Althea.”
The broad-hipped, graying woman nodded her approval.
“I’ll let you help me make a batch of thumbprint cookies,” she told the girl, “with real raspberry jam.”
“Those were your daddy’s favorites,” Zach added, smiling at Eden. “Mine, too, for that matter, so you be sure to save me some.”
“I wanna go with you,” said Eden stubbornly, her tiny hands balling into fists. “Wanna see the cows and horses.”
Hoping to avert a full-fledged tantrum, Zach shrugged at Miss Althea. “Well, I was going to take this young lady to visit those puppies later on,” he said, “but if she’s not even willing to help you make your famous cookies...”
“I can help!” Eden exploded, jumping with excitement. “I’ll be the best helper!”
“And you won’t pester Miss Althea or your grandma by asking when I’ll be home?” he prompted.
When she crossed her heart and hoped to cry, he knelt for another hug and ruffled her silky, golden-brown hair. “Be good, now,” he said, grabbing his jacket and making his escape while he still could.
He cleared his throat the moment he was outdoors, trying to break up the lump of dread lodged firmly inside it. Anger, too, that he’d let himself be suckered. Allowed himself to believe that, against all odds, some part of his brother had survived.
He cranked the big pickup’s engine and listened to it roar to life. How stupid can you get? The Ian he knew and loved never would have kept a child secret, never would’ve failed to see to Eden’s support or named her as a beneficiary in the event of his death, either. Sure, their father would have cursed him for a fool for fathering a child out of wedlock, but like Zach, his younger brother had used the military to put distance between himself and the harshness of the old man’s judgment.
To put distance between himself and the legacy of dust and duty that was all Zach had left now.
He was pulling up to the corral when a call came through on the satellite phone he’d purchased to keep in touch with his cowboys anywhere on the ranch.
“Zach, this is Sheriff Canter,” said the caller as soon as he had answered.
Hearing the agitation in the man’s voice, Zach guessed, “That reporter stopped by your office to see you, did she? I figured she might, after we told her we hadn’t seen her sister.”
“Not exactly, she didn’t. She had a little run-in with ole Hellfire over by Tumbleweeds.”
“Danny McFarland?” Zach swore under his breath. Unwelcome visitor or not, he should’ve warned the Layton woman about tracking down and questioning Frankie’s ex-con brother. Probably, that would have only made the mule-headed reporter more eager to find and question the man, but still... “He didn’t hurt her, did he?”
An image of her pretty face, bruised and bloodied, flashed across his vision. He swallowed hard, jaw stiffening, though he couldn’t say for certain why it was any of his business.
“Nah,” said Canter, the casual contempt in his tone reminding Zach why he hadn’t liked him years before and still didn’t. “Hellfire looks big and bad, but he’s toned down his act these days, now that he’s a man of bidness. Just made her mad enough to call and insist on pressing charges. Waste of time was what I told her. Sooner she heads home and forgets about this nonsense, the better. From what your mama told me months ago, the sister skipped rent and skipped town with her lowlife boyfriend. Which suits me just fine, I can tell you. I was gettin’ mighty tired of driving out there to make sure they weren’t at each other’s throats again.”
Zach rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache of his own coming on. “So Frankie was violent with her?”
“Hell, when those two got to drinkin’, they were violent with each other. I had to put ’em both in separate cells one night to cool off after they got into a knock-down drag-out over at the Prairie Rose.”
Despite the sweetness of its name, the century-old saloon perched on the town’s outskirts was as famous for its rowdy brawls as its watered-down liquor. Zach remembered a handful of fights he’d taken part in back in the day, burning off his restless energy and frustration in the weeks before he’d left home. In fact, it had been George Canter—still a deputy at that time—who’d advised him to get your sorry ass off the ranch and out of this town before it completely ruins you.
“Hellfire was tryin’ his best to reform him, but the rest of the Prairie Rose crowd had been layin’ odds on how long it would be till Frankie finally up and killed her.”
What if he had, Zach wondered, then taken off for parts unknown? Could Jessica Layton, with those green eyes that looked so uncomfortably like Eden’s, be looking for a living sister when she should be searching for a corpse? It would certainly explain why Frankie had suddenly skipped town, and possibly why his mother had been so quick to react—or overreact—when Haley’s twin showed up asking questions.
“What I don’t understand,” Zach said as another thought struck him, “is why’re you calling me about this.” Had the reporter said something to Canter, something that might raise the sheriff’s suspicions about his mother?
His gut twisted with the thought—and with the certainty that a third loss would utterly destroy her. Especially the loss of a child as sweet and full of life as Eden.
“I’m calling to find out a little more about Jessica Layton’s visit out to your place this afternoon.”
“Mama told her on the phone that Haley had moved on,” Zach said, struggling to sound casual, “but Jessica had to come see for herself, I guess, make sure we weren’t hiding her twin under a cow pie or something.”
“I guess you know as well as anyone how these reporters are, always smelling a conspiracy,” Canter said, his pointed look reminding Zach of the incident that had cost him his wings. “And that young woman—I’m thinkin’ that she’s not finished sniffing around here yet.”
“You’re sure? You said that Hellfire knocked her down, and you warned her yourself to move along.”
“I didn’t warn her.” Canter sounded testy at the suggestion. “I just gave her a little friendly advice. But when she and that sawed-off excuse for a man she’s got with her rolled out of town, I noticed that she didn’t take the road toward Dallas. Best that I can figure, she’s headin’ straight back to your ranch.”
The hell she is, Zach decided, intent on heading her off and sending her packing before she had the chance to bother his mama again—or get a closer look at his supposed niece.
Chapter 4
The light was almost gone by the time the dusty blue Prius followed the power lines that led them to the old bunkhouse.
“You sure this is it?”
Jessie peered past Henry and nodded. “Has to be. Nancy Rayford said herself the place was on the East Two Hundred—and you saw what I brought up on the satellite map.”
During their long wait for the sheriff’s arrival, Jessi
e had taken full advantage of a nearby cell tower, using the connection to pore over the area surrounding the Rayford ranch. Sure enough, there was a large parcel to the east of the ranch house, and she’d been able to zoom in on the only rooftop, which appeared to belong to a small outbuilding. Some days, she absolutely loved technology.
Despite her show of confidence, however, she hadn’t been entirely certain whether they would come across the bunkhouse or a half-collapsed barn—not until her headlights skimmed the front porch of the narrow structure. Putting the car in park, Jessie took note of the boarded windows, the sagging roof and the tall brush. Piles of spindly tumbleweeds had blown up against the west side of the narrow building, mounding like a snowdrift. As sad and lonely as the place looked, she was almost certain it had served as someone’s living quarters. But had her sister and her boyfriend lived here recently?
“Looks like it’s been empty for a while,” she said, pointing out the unbroken yellow stalks of grasses that had come up in front of the steps. “Months, at least.”
“If I didn’t know better,” said Henry, “I’d say the place has been abandoned for years.”
Jessie nodded, speechless as she took in the warped, unpainted wood and the air of desperation. Despite the presence of electricity and what she thought might be a well house, Jessie ached imagining her twin living in a shelter that barely looked fit for animals.
If their father could have seen this place, would he have relented on his own vow to never give Haley another penny? Would Jessie herself have driven here to get her?
Maybe not, though the sight of this place would have given her nightmares for months afterward. Especially if it was as infested with rats and spiders—or even snakes—as its appearance suggested.
Her stomach crawled at the thought, but she forced herself to trot out her best intrepid young reporter act. “Flashlights are in the back. You ready?”
“Ready for what?” Henry asked. “You can’t mean we’re going in there. This is private property. If the owner doesn’t outright shoot us, that sheriff will throw us both in the hoosegow for the sheer pleasure of it.”
“Hoosegow?” She grinned, wondering when the last time was she’d heard someone refer to a jail by that name. But then again, Rusted Spur was an outdated place, its sweeping plains reminding her of the Spaghetti Westerns her father had once loved.
At the thought, her imagination conjured the image of Zach Rayford, long and lean and tough as nails as he scowled down from the saddle aboard a coal-black stallion. As the soundtrack whistled a cinematic warning, sheeplike townsfolk scurried out of sight. Still, she couldn’t help thinking about how handsome the guy was. How smoking hot, despite the glower.
“You think I’m kidding?” Henry went on. “Because I’m telling you, the sheriff wasn’t. He wants us gone from here, and I’m starting to think that’s a damned good idea.”
She frowned, wishing she’d left her cameraman in Dallas. But that would have meant bucking her news director, and Jessie had no intention of losing her job, not when she was so close to breaking a story she had risked so much to chase down. So why didn’t Vivian run the piece live before I left? Could there be another reason she’d seemed relieved when I asked to leave town right before the date we had agreed on?
Unfortunately, she was afraid she already knew the reason; she simply didn’t want to believe it could be true.
“Quit worrying so much,” she said, hoping a display of girl-reporter spunkiness might move him. “Seriously, who’s going to see us?” She gestured at the rolling rangeland all around them, its bleakness broken only by a smear of rose and orange that stained the western horizon. “Maybe you could get some footage for your— You brought an extra memory card, right?”
“Of course I did, but it’s too dark now. We’d only have to come back later, anyway. So let’s wait till tomorrow.”
“We can’t afford to, Henry. You know as well as I do, by the time Rayford and Canter get through laying down the law around here, we won’t be able to buy so much as a glass of water, let alone a tank of gas or a scrap of information. And I’ll never find my sister, at least not before our mom’s—before she’s too sick for it to make a difference.”
“If we started now,” said Henry, “we could reach Marston before nine. That’s where you made our reservation, isn’t it?”
“Closest lodging I could find.”
“We can rest up and make a new plan for the morning.”
“I’m not going anywhere until we take a look inside that house,” she said, “before somebody hightails it out here to clean up any evidence.”
Henry frowned. “Evidence of what?”
“Whatever really happened to Haley.” A chill crawled down her neck like some many-legged insect. “Whether it’s a forwarding address or—or something worse.”
“Like what? You don’t seriously think a tiny little thing like Mrs. Rayford’s done something to your sister?”
“Not her, but what about Hellfire’s brother, Frankie?” Jessie shook her head and climbed out into the breezy chill, not wanting to think about the kind of damage a violent man could inflict on a woman. Beatings, strangulations, shootings—she’d covered nearly every brand of bad news on the night beat.
Haley couldn’t be dead; it was impossible. Close as they had once been, Jessie would have felt the void.
Wouldn’t she? Or had Haley’s choices—and Jessie’s own—forever severed the connection? The questions whistled past her on a hollow wind, eliciting a shiver.
Leaving the headlights on and the car idling, she retrieved two flashlights from the rear and then passed a rusted barbecue grill on her way to the porch. As her foot creaked on the first step, she heard Henry coming up behind her.
“Think it’s safe?” he asked. “The last thing we need is for one of us to fall through.”
“Just a little noisy, that’s all,” she said, grabbing the wooden railing as she turned to look at him.
With a loud crack, a section of the railing snapped off in her hand.
“Or maybe not,” she said. “Be careful, Henry.”
“My middle name,” he joked, accepting the flashlight she offered with a shaky hand. “At least that’s what my wife claims.”
On the porch itself, they found a sand-filled coffee can bristling with ancient cigarette butts. Broken pieces of beer bottles lay scattered, along with a few crushed cans. Beneath a rough-hewn bench, she spotted a soiled wad of cloth. Using the broken length of railing, Jessie poked at the cloth, then jumped reflexively as a couple of scorpions disappeared into the crevices between boards.
Jessie shivered, but she forgot the nasty little things as she turned her attention to what turned out to be a worn T-shirt.
As she poked and then lifted it with the piece of railing, the torn and holey shirt’s design sent a jolt of recognition through her. With its feminine scooped neck and its red-and-white Texas Rangers logo, she felt certain it had to be her sister’s.
Seeing her face, Henry frowned. “You recognize it, then?”
“Haley’s favorite team.” A memory of a family trip to the stadium in Arlington—of a time they’d still been a real family—froze the breath in Jessie’s lungs.
She shook it off and said, “You see the stains here?” With her flashlight’s beam, she indicated darker splotches. Large splotches.
“Mold?” he asked.
“Or blood.” She used her on-air voice, its calm confidence belying the panic that gripped her, the desire to scream or cry or pray her way out of this possibility. It could be Haley’s blood here, right here, the DNA so close to mine it would take a team of scientists to tease out the differences.
“Should we call the sheriff?” Henry asked.
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Like you said before, he’d just arrest us for trespassing, an
d nine chances out of ten, this shirt would disappear before it could get tested. We’ll bag it before we leave, get an independent lab to check it out.”
“But it could be—I’m sorry to say this, Jessie, this being your sister—but this might be evidence of a crime. You can’t take it.”
“What else would you suggest? Leave it here and run home to tell my mom some fairy story? Because I’m not going to do that. And I’m not trusting Canter with this.”
“What about someone else?” He pointed at the shirt’s logo. “Maybe the real rangers?”
“Great idea,” she said, thinking that the legendary Texas Rangers would be perfect, “but before they’ll come, we’ll have to convince them the locals aren’t willing or able to handle this investigation. And that there’s more to this than some reporter’s overactive imagination.”
“Or an attempt to add a little ‘sex appeal’ to a routine missing person story.” He sketched air quotes around the phrase, alluding to the Ranger mystique viewing audiences lapped up so eagerly.
She felt her face harden. “You really think I’m angling here? We’re talking about my family.”
Raising his palms in surrender, Henry quickly backpedaled. “I didn’t mean you, personally. Only that’s what these law-enforcement types are gonna think you’re up to.”
She sighed before admitting, “A lot of times, I would be.”
“Not you, Jessie, not that I’ve ever noticed. You’re not like that at all.”
She skewered him with a look, reminded of a recent conversation. “I’m not too soft for real news. Look how long I’ve covered the overnight crime beat.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I have plenty of ambition. Look at that story I just did on the mayor,” she insisted.
“You mean the one that Vivian wouldn’t let run before we left?”
“She’ll run it,” Jessie insisted. “When the time is right, she’ll—”
“It’s locked,” he interrupted, trying to hide his enthusiasm as he pointed out the padlock on the bunkhouse door. “Guess we’ll have to leave, after all. Wait. What’re you doing? You aren’t seriously thinking of breaking and—”
Lone Star Redemption Page 4