Lone Star Redemption

by Colleen Thompson

  “I can handle myself,” she said, bailing out of the car with her dog.

  Cursing her under his breath, Zach followed the stubborn woman as Clem Elam climbed down a set of rickety wooden boxes used for stair steps. He wore a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard over a filthy wool plaid jacket, along with a moth-eaten brown hat with earflaps to protect him from the cold.

  Expression souring, Clem hollered at his hounds, who were by now going crazy, to quit their carrying on.

  A few rebellious howls and a lot more yelling followed before the noise finally subsided. Clem glared, first at Jessie and then at the silent sentinel sitting with deceptive calmness at her side.

  “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a coupla bitches here to stir them dogs up,” he told Zach.

  “Excuse me—” Jessie started, anger sparking in her green eyes before she glanced at Zach and cut herself off, apparently remembering that he had tried to warn her.

  But that didn’t mean he was about to put up with Elam’s garbage, either. “You’ll call her Ms. Layton,” Zach said. “Or we won’t be doing business.” And I might just decide to leave you lying on those steps.

  Looking down at Gretel, Elam spat on the ground. “Others might feel different on the subject, but I never did have any use for bitches. Except for breedin’ dogs, that is. That’s about all they’re good for.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the car,” Jessie grumbled, clearly not trusting herself to deal with the man’s provocation.

  Once he heard the door slam, Zach told Clem, “You’re a smooth old cuss, you know that?”

  Elam laughed. “So I’ve been told,” he said and then sobered in an instant. “You come to pay the dump fee?”

  “Maybe,” Zach said, reaching into his front pocket and then withdrawing his hand, as if he’d changed his mind. “Or maybe I was wondering what the charge would be if I was thinking on picking something up, instead.”

  Elam licked at dry lips. “What you lookin’ for exactly? Maybe I can help you find it...for an extra twenty.”

  Zach shrugged, trying to make it seem as if what he wanted was no big deal. And sensing, rather than seeing, Hellfire’s presence in the open doorway. Yet Zach knew he was there, trusted the knowledge as if he still had use of his crashed jet’s radar.

  “It really isn’t worth much,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “Just some old furniture I promised Reverend Jacobs from the church he could take and clean up for a family that could use it. A little down on their luck, the way he put it.” Belatedly, Zach remembered finding the bunkhouse had been emptied, but Elam and Danny didn’t have to know he knew that.

  “A lot down on their luck,” said Hellfire from the doorway, “if they’re thinkin’ of usin’ anything outta that dump.”

  Zach met the biker’s gaze and held it, in case his words had been intended as a challenge. When McFarland said nothing, Zach said, “You been on my property, Danny? Because I don’t recall inviting any ex-cons.”

  Hellfire came down the steps to glare at him, and Zach noticed that he, too, had dirt smudges on his leather jacket. Even his beard had traces of the stuff.

  What had the two men been up to?

  Finally, McFarland mumbled, “I was helpin’ Clem here with the demolition, lending one of my saloon’s best customers a hand.”

  Just like Clem had lent Hellfire his pickup to commit a murder that night back in November, Zach figured. But as much as he wanted to lay out the accusation, he wasn’t fool enough to escalate this argument here. Because, Rayford or not, he was well aware he could end up buried in the nearby landfill—and Jessie with him.

  So instead, Zach walked over to McFarland and offered his hand. “We go back a long way, Danny. So no hard feelings about our little conversation at the Prairie Rose the other day?”

  Hellfire blinked hard, clearly confused by the gesture. But some dormant patch of manners lurking in his gray matter won the day, and he accepted Zach’s handshake with a bruising grip.

  “No hard feelings,” Danny mumbled, not much sounding like he meant it. “And about what I said that night—you’re welcome to come by anytime. And spread around some of that Rayford money while you’re at it.”

  “I’ll be sure and do that,” Zach promised, though both of them knew he never would. “So whatcha hearing from your little brother these days?”

  The handshake over, Hellfire made a move, but it was only to drop the mirrored shades sitting on the top of his head down over his eyes.

  “People’ve been asking me a lot about him lately,” he said. “You, the sheriff, couple of others who don’t know any better than to stick their nose in a man’s family business.”

  With this, Hellfire glanced meaningfully at Jessie, in the Escalade’s front seat. She raised her chin a little higher, her look pure defiance, and Zach felt proud of her fire, as proud as if he had some claim on her.

  “Fine-looking woman you got right there,” Danny remarked. “Glad to see she’s finally learned her place.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you,” Zach told him, envisioning the Rottweiler ripping out the man’s throat. “It could come back to haunt you.”

  Hellfire made a scoffing sound. “She oughta go back where she came from. She’s not gonna find what she’s looking for anywhere in these parts.”

  “And you know this for a fact because...?”

  “Maybe that sister of hers don’t want to be found,” Hellfire told him. “Or my brother, either. She ever think of that?”

  “Pretty sure it’s occurred to her,” Zach managed. “And I’m not sure she’d bother for her own sake, except she made a promise to her and Haley’s mama, rest her soul.”

  He let the words hang, noticing the way Hellfire’s gaze reddened before sliding toward Jessie.

  “Their mama?” said the huge man.

  “She just died recently,” Zach told them, sensing some seismic shift inside the mountain of a biker, “without seeing her daughter. But she made Jessie promise that she’d still bring Haley home.”

  “Just another bitch stirring up trouble,” Elam said. “Why should anybody give a rat’s—”

  Hellfire glared a warning his way. “C’mon, Clem. Don’t be trash-talking anybody’s mama up in heaven. That’s sacred ground you’re treading on there.”

  Zach stared for a moment, trying to make out whether to take those words seriously, considering the reputation the McFarland brothers’ mother had had for heavy drinking. She had died young, though, maybe young enough that time had buffed away bad memories, leaving an odd residue of reverence in their place.

  Before Zach could be certain, Hellfire stalked off, making for the Cadillac’s passenger side. Ready for trouble, Zach followed closely enough to see Jessie’s eyes widen at the huge man’s approach, but she was smart enough to hide her fear and put down the window.

  “So you weren’t lyin’ before,” Hellfire asked her, “when you said you were lookin’ for your sister on account of your sick mama?”

  Jessie narrowed her eyes. “I told you it was about my mother—just before you knocked me down. And threatened to knock my teeth out, the way I remember.”

  He shook his head. “I just figured you were lookin’ for your sister so you could get back your money.”

  “It was never about that, but what do you know about the money? Did Haley say something about me?”

  The massive shoulders shrugged. “We were all sittin’ around havin’ a few beers one night last summer, and she was sayin’ how she missed her family, especially her sister, but she could never go back. She’d played you all for patsies until you finally cut her off.”

  Anguish etched itself in Jessie’s beautiful face, a yearning that made Zach ache for her. “She said that? That she missed us?”

  The huge head nodded. �
�Yeah, she did. Not long before they lit out.”

  Recovering, Jessie speared him with a look. “For where?” she demanded before leaving the vehicle to face him directly. “Please. Hell— Please, Danny. I made a promise. A promise at my mother’s deathbed.”

  His homely face troubled, he shook his head. “Truth is, I don’t know where they went, on account of we had a falling out.”

  “A falling out? About what?”

  “Everybody said I’d never do it, never get a bar of my own. That a fella like me, come up outta nothin’, would never be a man of property. A business owner.”

  “You sure as hell showed them!” hooted Clem, fist-pumping the air while Danny ignored his racket.

  “You gotta understand,” Danny said. “I was workin’ two jobs, pullin’ crazy hours, sellin’ nearly everything I owned. But every time I’d get a stake up, Frankie figured he had money, too. Money for food and beer and bail for him and Haley—it was like trying to swim for shore with an anchor chain still wrapped around your neck. So I told him I was finished coverin’ for him, that I’d raised him up as long as I could—”

  “Are you sure you’re finished, Danny?” Jessie challenged, looking so small in comparison to the mountain of a man she faced that Zach came forward, fully prepared to step between them. “Or are you still covering for Frankie? Covering for the murder he committed even now?”

  * * *

  After Jessie’s question, Hellfire turned away. “I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you trash-talking the only family I got. I gotta go to work now.”

  “Your brother killed her,” Jessie called after him, her heart pounding as she laid the truth out. “I know he killed my sister.”

  Hellfire kept going, swearing to himself.

  She started to go after him, but Zach blocked her, grabbing her by the arms. Straining against his interference, she spoke past him, “Please. Please, Danny. I just want to find Haley. Dead or alive, I have to find her. For my mother’s sake.”

  Hellfire stopped in his tracks, then made a slow turn clearly designed to intimidate. Zach edged in front of her, guardian enough that she didn’t call her dog. At least not yet.

  “I’m not leaving until I know the truth,” she told the biker, her heart pounding.

  “Then maybe you’re not leaving—” he began before Zach cut him off.

  “Threaten her again,” he said, “and you’ll find out how hard it is to run that business of yours from a jail cell.”

  Glaring at them both, Hellfire spat on the ground then muttered something about damned Rayfords, thinking they all ran this county. But he didn’t challenge Zach directly, instead telling Jessie, “Next time I hear from Frankie, I’ll tell him to have Haley call. That satisfy you?”

  “Only if she does.” Before she could say more, he was kicking his motorcycle to life, revving the huge engine so loudly that he drowned out her demands.

  Once he roared off, Clem waved them away, saying, “Just get outta here. Get off my property right now.”

  Zach held out a couple of twenties. “You don’t want my money?”

  Elam hesitated a split second before shaking his head. “I don’t want one thing in this wide world except to have you two gone.”

  With that, he stomped back up the steps and slammed the door of the travel trailer behind him. The chained hounds took it as their cue to resume their chorus, and after that, it was too loud for Zach and Jessie to do anything but head over to the trash pit, whether or not they had Clem’s blessing.

  As soon as Zach parked, she bailed out and hurried toward the pit’s edge, her heart sinking. For someone, clearly Clem and Hellfire, considering the dirt clinging to their clothing, had dumped and leveled fill dirt over the contents of the pit.

  “They buried it,” she said, despair weighing down her hope. Frustration burned and shimmered in her eyes. “They buried whatever evidence was in there. We’ll never find it now.”

  Zach laid one big hand on her shoulder. “I know this seems impossible. Every bit of it. But we’ll get it figured out. We will.”

  “You’re not exactly batting a thousand so far,” she snapped, the lash of her anger the only thing that allowed her to drive back the threatening tears.

  “You okay to head over to the house now?” he asked her, holding the door open for her.

  She wanted to argue with him, to tell him she was perfectly capable of driving for herself now. But the lightheadedness that had begun earlier was worse now, so instead, she simply nodded and climbed up inside. Or tried to, her shaking legs forcing her to step back and let him support her waist.

  “There you go,” he said, reaching across her to pull and latch her seat belt.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And I’m sorry. Sorry for taking my frustrations out on you, when you’re the only one— My only ally.”

  She tipped back against the headrest, her eyes fluttering closed.

  “Whoa, Jessie. Here. Have another sip of water.” He pressed the cool, wet water bottle from the cup holder into her left hand. “You’re looking pretty pale there. You aren’t going to faint on me, are you?”

  “I’m not the type who faints,” she protested, telling herself that no real journalist would be such a lightweight.

  “I’m calling bull on that one,” he said, “since I happened to be there the last time you did.”

  Indignant, she forced her eyes open. “I’d been shot. That’s different. Shock and blood loss don’t count.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said, clearly fighting off a smile, “so unless you want to spoil your perfect record, lean back and have that drink.”

  Once she had, he climbed behind the wheel and put the SUV back in gear. As the mansion came into sight, he asked her, “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

  She wrinkled her nose, nausea swirling in her stomach. “Some fast food around lunchtime. Greasy burger, fries—not my usual, but I was in a hurry to get on the road.”

  “No wonder you’re sick,” he said. “You need something better in you.”

  “Not right now, I don’t,” she said, laying her hand on her still-churning stomach. “I’ll get something tonight in Marston. I’ve got a room booked there tonight.”

  “Tell me you’re not planning to poke around anymore this afternoon. You’ll pass out.”

  She wanted to ask him, Why should you care? But it was clear it was his nature, the nature of a man who’d come home to take care of his mother and his niece.

  His niece... What had her name been? Something unusual, old-fashioned. Edith, wasn’t it? Jessie shook her head, trying to pin down the scrap of information.

  Telling herself it didn’t matter, she let it blow away, along with the nagging sensation that there was something beyond cuteness, something about the little girl that seemed almost familiar.

  “Jessie, you still with me?” he asked as he pulled up near the barn, where she’d been parked before.

  “Sure thing,” she said. “Just thinking. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “I imagine,” he said, his gaze darting toward the house and back again. “Um, you want to come inside? I’m sure I can find a place for you to lie down until you’re feeling better.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” she said. “I think I’ll head to Marston now.”

  “It’s over an hour from here. There’s no way you’re fit to drive that far.”

  “It was the closest lodging I could find, though I’m still not certain the motel manager won’t freak when she sees I’ve brought Gretel.”

  “So you didn’t call Margie?”

  “Margie?” she asked. “Who’s that?”

  “Margie Hunter,” he said, “my former fifth-grade teacher.”

  At her confused look, he explained, “She’s retired no
w. Pension doesn’t go as far as she’d like, so she rents out rooms in that big old farmhouse her husband left her. Mostly rents to land men coming through.”

  “Land men?” she asked.

  “That’s what they call ’em in the industry, even the women,” he explained. “They’re the ones who go around researching property owners at the courthouse and buying up mineral rights for the oil companies. There’s been a lot more interest in the area just lately. Better drilling methods making what used to be worthless profitable.”

  “I saw something about that in the paper,” she said, mostly since she’d become too jaded about television news to watch after the way Vivian had stabbed her in the back. “Read that there was oil found on your land, too.”

  He shot her a self-deprecating grin. “It helps support the family cattle habit.”

  She snorted. “So about this Margie Hunter? I never found her on the internet. In fact, I didn’t find any kind of lodging here in Rusted Spur.”

  “Margie’s strictly word of mouth. Doesn’t want to get overrun by a ‘bunch of out-of-town riffraff,’” he said, sketching air quotes with his fingers. “But if you and the mutt want to come back inside my office, I’ll give her a call and vouch for you. The dog, too, if you promise me she won’t eat anybody.”

  “Gretel’s actually relaxed and friendly when she isn’t working.”

  Giving the Rottweiler a skeptical look, he said, “When she’s not hell-bent on ripping arms off, you mean.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. “She’s not ripping anybody’s arms off. She’s just letting you know that she’s still on duty.”

  “Well, if you expect to take her into Margie’s house, you’re going to have to find the off switch on her.”

  “You have my word I can control her.”

  He eyed her, clearly skeptical. “The word of a reporter?”