When the chopper landed, Lanny and two other Border Patrol agents alighted.They loaded him on a stretcher, but he refused to let them put him on the helicopter until Lanny opened the box.
“What’s in it?” Michael asked as his boss bent over the container.
Lanny straightened. “AK-47s. And a little pot. Good work.”
“Not good enough. I think they killed Philip.” He’d promised Lanny there would be no vendetta, but Michael found he was going to have trouble keeping his word about that. He curled his fingers into fists. He would find those men.
“Look here,” one of the agents said. He handed a letter-sized poster to Michael.
Michael’s fingers spasmed. “Get me home.” He stuffed the paper in his pocket. “I need to check on my family.”
GRACIE WAS ON HER HANDS AND KNEES, SCRUBBING THE CRACKED LINOLEUM in the kitchen, when she heard a vehicle crunch on the driveway gravel. She popped her head up and glanced out the window to see a big SUV park by the porch. Michael’s truck and trailer rolled to a stop behind the SUV, but two strangers got out of it. A man exited the SUV and approached the front door. He wore a green Border Patrol uniform.
She dried her hands. “Wait here, Hope,” she told her daughter, who was copying letters onto lined paper. She went to answer the firm rap on the screen door. She stared through the screen at the man on the other side. He was in his thirties with brown eyes and skin weathered by the sun and wind.
“Howdy, ma’am.You’re Mrs.Wayne?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Israel Fishman with Border Patrol.We’ve got your husband in the SUV, and I wanted to make sure the door was unlocked to bring him in.”
She gasped and put her hand to her throat. “He’s hurt?”
“Rapped his knee trying to catch a shooter. The doctor said to keep ice on it and keep it elevated. He’s not supposed to put any weight on it for a couple of days.We’ll bring him in.”The man tipped his hat, then went back down the wooden steps. “And we’ll put the horse in the barn and feed him so you don’t have to worry about more than a grouchy husband.” He grinned.
The two men from Michael’s truck approached the SUV’s front passenger door, which swung open. Gracie didn’t like how white Michael’s face was or how he grimaced when the men helped him out.The men made a sling with their arms and carried him across the yard and up the steps. Caesar watched as if to make sure they were doing it right.
“Where do you want him?” Fishman asked.
Michael answered for her. “In the living room.”
She shook her head. “In his bedroom. He won’t be able to get up the steps.”
He glared at her. “I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’m not spending two days looking at four walls.”
Uh-oh. She’d always heard it said a sick man was worse than a kid. She was going to have her hands full taking care of him. She shrugged. “In the living room, then.”
Puffing, the men carried Michael down the hall to the sofa and deposited him on it. She scooted over a footrest, then lifted his injured leg onto it.
He winced. “Appreciate the help, guys.”
“Anything for Phil’s brother,” Fishman said.
Michael rose onto his elbow. “You knew Phil?”
Fishman nodded. “Good man. Pickens has me investigating his death.”
“What have you found out?”
“Nothing you don’t know. Not yet, at least. But I’ll track down Vargas’s henchmen.” He went toward the hall.
“Thanks,” Gracie told the men, following them to the door.
“He’s been grousing since we got him,” Fishman said. “You might want to put on your boxing gloves.”
“I think I can handle him,” she said. “You seem a little tense. How did he take that fall?”
“Running after arms smugglers.”
“Did he catch them?”
He shook his head. “I’m just thankful he didn’t get shot. There was gunfire.” He glanced away. “Sorry. I’ll be in trouble for telling you that, I’m sure.”
In her mind’s eye, she saw Michael lying spread-eagle with a bullet through his chest, and something lodged in her throat that grew until she couldn’t speak.
Fishman touched her arm. “Try not to worry. He’s okay.”
She nodded, still unable to form a sentence. Fishman shrugged and went toward his SUV, where the other men waited. Gracie backed away from the door and went back to check on Michael. His feet were propped up. His brows were drawn together, and his lips were in a tight line.
Gracie’s stomach did a cartwheel. “Is something wrong? I mean, other than the fact that you’re hurting?”
“You tell me.” He leaned over and slammed a piece of paper down on top of the coffee table.
His anger tasted like alum. Gracie stepped nearer and stared down at the paper. At the top was a photo of herself.The text below it instructed that she and her child were to be found immediately. She swallowed the bile that collected at the back of her throat.
“Wh-what is this?” Seeing the thunderous expression on his face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He leaned back against the cushion and folded his arms across his chest. “It appears someone is searching for you. Someone who fired shots at me.”
Gracie put her hand to her mouth. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Was anyone else hurt?” Had Cid used his connections to the cartel to find her? An even more sinister thought was that the men who had murdered the federal agents were looking for her.
“Just the guy with this paper in his pocket.What’s this all about, Gracie?”
“I. . . I’m not sure.”
“You know more than you’re saying.What made you run away from your wedding?”
“Who did you show this to?” She could barely get the words out. With his eyes boring a hole through her, she couldn’t think.
“Just the Border Patrol.They found it.”
“Border Patrol,” she muttered. Though she trusted Michael, the more people who knew her whereabouts, the more likely her hiding place would be discovered.
With a monumental effort, Gracie forced back her desire to run. “It might be my fiancé. I suspect he has some ties to a Mexican cartel, and he might be using his connections to find me.”
“What makes you think he’s tied to a cartel? Is he dirty?”
She nodded. “Federal agents came to question me just before the wedding. They mentioned a cartel called La Loma. Gunmen showed up and killed the agents, then came looking for me.”
“La Loma?” Michael asked.
“They’re behind most of the drug trafficking in the Southwest.”
“What did you tell the agents?”
“Nothing. The next thing I knew, a vanload of men was shooting and the agents were dead. I grabbed Hope and ran.”
“What about Cid?”
She eyed his grim expression. “I thought he was dead—until he called me later.”
“You didn’t tell him where you were?”
She shook her head. “He has no idea.”
His stern expression relaxed. “So this poster likely has nothing to do with the shots fired at me. Cid is trying to track you down. Is he dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. Her eyes burned. She’d hoped never to see such disillusionment on Michael’s face. “He’s always seemed kind and gentle.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him where you were?”
She rubbed her temples where pain pulsed. “I. . . I didn’t trust him. I overheard him taking a bribe. I told him to cut off ties with the cartel or it was over. He said he did, but when the agents showed up, I knew it was all a lie. And I was only marrying him to give Hope a home. But he seems to be. . . obsessed with finding me. He’s called several times.”
“I need any information you have about this gang you suspect he’s involved with,” Michael said. “If they’re operating here, I’ll stop them.”
“I don’t know anything important,”
she said, holding his gaze. “I didn’t recognize the men who bribed him, and the men who killed the agents were too far away to identify.”
“You could take a look at mug shots.”
She shook her head. “They mutilate and kill anyone who talks about them. I just want this all to go away. I have Hope to consider.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “So do I. Protecting you both is my responsibility.”
When was the last time she’d had anyone want to protect her? Not since she left home. She understood his anger. “I doubt they’re operating around here. Isn’t this Vargas’s territory?”
He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m overreacting.You should have told me all this though, Gracie.”
“I know,” she said.
“Why didn’t you? There was plenty of opportunity.”
She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “I was afraid.”
The sternness on his face softened. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Gracie.You can tell me anything.We’re a team.”
The intensity of his expression held her rapt.Their bond had been growing stronger, and she allowed herself a tiny glimmer of hope that they might make it to some kind of deeper relationship.
“I never would have come here if I thought it would put you or the kids in any danger,” she said. “I thought Cid was dead at first, and I was sure the cartel wouldn’t go to the trouble of finding me once I was out of state. It’s not like I know anything.”
He picked up the paper and waved it in her face. “This shows he’s looking very hard.”
“I need some air,” she said, rushing for the door. He called after her, but she didn’t want him to see her fear.
She let the screen door slam behind her, then she sank onto the porch swing. The sun was going down, and the rays of gold and red spread across the sky just above the desert hills. She took out her phone.The Feds might help. She could answer their questions and then ask them to keep Cid away from her. All the evidence pointed to his continued involvement with the cartel. The agents had been sure of their evidence, and the fact that the gunmen had let him live suggested he was with them.
She opened her phone, then closed it again. What reason could she give for her panic over Cid’s obsession to find her? He hadn’t threatened her. She’d be opening a can of worms with their questions about the murders too. It was something she wanted to forget, not rehash endlessly to the Feds. Though her letter had explained all she knew, there was no guarantee they’d believe her.
Michael thought she should face unpleasant things. Maybe she could take a step in that direction. She opened her phone again and found the number of the agent who had called her. She couldn’t bring herself to push the send button.
The screen door banged. Michael limped onto the porch. She quickly closed her phone. “You shouldn’t be up!”
“I’m fine.” He dropped onto a chair.“Who were you getting ready to call?”
“I. . . I thought about calling the FBI.”
The dim wash of light from the porch lamp illuminated his face. “What have they said about the murders?”
“I haven’t talked to them.”
His lips tightened. “Surely they’ve called.”
She clenched her hands together in her lap. “Yes, but I missed the call.”
“And didn’t call them back.” His tone held cynicism.
She held his gaze with as much bravery as she could muster. “No.”
He leaned forward. “Gracie, you have to quit avoiding anything unpleasant,” his voice rose. “Life holds both good and bad, and you’re just making it harder on yourself when you run.The FBI isn’t going to be happy you’ve been out of touch.”
“I don’t know anything that can help them, but I was about to call.”
“Were you really?”
She dropped her gaze. “I’d just chickened out when you showed up.”
He sat back and sighed. “I thought so. Give me the number. I’ll call them.”
“They’ll want to talk to me.”
“I’ll be with you if they do. I’m not going to abandon you to face this alone, honey.”
The endearment made her inhale. “I’ve never met a man like you,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “You’re my wife.A man shields his wife.”
Discipline and commitment.Was that all he felt for her? “I’d better get the kids ready for bed,” she said.
Her own feelings were developing into something much stronger.
13
“CAREFUL OF DADDY’S LEG.” GRACIE SCOOPED UP EVAN AS HE ATTEMPTED to clamber onto his father’s lap. She deposited him on the sofa next to Michael. She’d brought him supper, bathed the kids, and put ice on his knee. She was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She needed some downtime to digest what had happened today.
Michael lifted his arm so the boy could snuggle against him. “He won’t hurt me. But it’s time for bed, kiddo. It’s nearly nine thirty.”
“I haven’t had a story,” Even protested. “I want you to read to me, Daddy.”
Evan needed some reassurance. He’d just lost his mother and feared losing his father. Jordan had handled news of Michael’s injury a little better.
“I think we can bend the rules just a bit tonight,” she said. “This scared him a little.” She mouthed the last sentence at Michael.
He frowned. “They have school tomorrow. Kids need a schedule.”
“It won’t hurt them to stay up awhile. Fifteen minutes.You can read them a story.”
Evan’s lip came out. “I don’t want to go to bed.”
“Look at him. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he’s barely awake.Take him to bed, please.” His voice was inflexible.
She scooped the boy off the sofa. “Let’s go to bed, sweetie.”
“No!” Evan wailed, squirming and reaching toward his father. “I want my daddy!”
“Daddy needs to rest too,” she said, carrying him out of the living room and up the steps.The girls were playing with their dolls in Hope’s room.They looked up as she went past with a still-howling Evan. She reached his bedroom and set him on the bed. “Want me to read you another story?” she asked. She ran her hand over his head in a soothing gesture, hoping it would calm him, and pressed him back against the pillow. After pulling the covers up, she kissed his cheek.
He hiccupped. “I want my daddy.” But his eyes were already starting to close.
Gracie kept her cheek against his. “I know, sweetie, but you’re so tired. If you get some rest, you can help me make pancakes for breakfast. I promise.”
“Okay.” He rolled to his side and began to breathe deeply.
That was easier than she’d expected. She stepped to Hope’s room. “Time for bed, girls.”
“Okay.” Hope clutched Molly, her favorite new doll, to her chest.
“Can I sleep with Hope tonight?” Jordan asked.
Gracie smiled. It might be a comfort to both of them. “Okay.” She pulled back the covers, and both girls climbed into the bed. After tucking them in, she kissed both fresh-smelling cheeks, even though Jordan flinched.
“Daddy always prays with me,” Jordan said, her tone accusing.
Gracie’s smile froze on her face. Her cheeks burned. She didn’t deserve to go to God about anything, but she couldn’t explain that to the children. She knelt beside the bed. “How about you pray?” she asked.
Jordan nodded and closed her eyes. “Jesus, take care of my dad and help his leg get better. Could you make Gracie go away? I don’t want a new mommy. Amen.”
Gracie winced and pressed her forehead against the mattress. She was so tired. She’d been making headway with the children until tonight. Their fear of losing their father had stirred their insecurities. She wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.
“That was mean,” Hope said. “My mommy is really nice to you.”
Jordan hunched under the covers. “I want my own mommy.”
/> Gracie touched the little girl’s dark hair and tried not to let it hurt when Jordan swatted her hand away. “I don’t want to take the place of your mommy,” she said. “I know you love her very much. Can you think of me as a new friend?”
“Like me,” Hope said. “I’m your friend.” She took Jordan’s hand.
“Maybe,” Jordan mumbled. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m sleepy.” She closed her eyes, but the snore that issued from her pursed lips was obviously fake.
Gracie rose from the floor. “Good night, sweetheart. Love you.”
Hope rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes. “Love you, too, Mommy.”
There were no sweeter words in the English language. Gracie flipped off the light and went toward the stairs. “Now to have it out with Michael,” she muttered.
MICHAEL SHIFTED HIS LEG, BUT THE ACHE DIDN’T EASE. HE GLANCED AT his watch.Time to pop another pill. It might be smart to take it before Gracie came back so he could calmly discuss how out of line she’d been. Evan was his son. Her footsteps sounded on the stairs, then she stepped into view in the doorway.
“How’s your pain level?” she asked.
“Bad. I could use a pain pill.”
“I’ll get one and more ice,” she said. She stepped back out of view.
He heard her popping ice from the ice trays. Couldn’t she bring him the pill first? Waves of pain encased his kneecap and moved up his thigh and down his calf.
She came back into the living room carrying an ice bag, a glass of water, and a pill bottle.After handing him the water, she dug out a pill. He popped it in his mouth and chased it down with a gulp of water. “I should have gotten it myself,” he grumbled. “I needed the pill more than the ice.” Caesar licked his hand.
“My,my, aren’t we in a lovely mood?” She positioned the ice pack on his knee. “The ice will help the pain faster than the pill.The meds will take at least half an hour to work.”
He shifted his leg on the footrest. “Sorry, I’m a bear, and I know it.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”
Lonestar Homecoming Page 12