“You planning to sell?”
She shook her head. “I just need a change of pace.”
“Is that why you’re quitting your job at the vet clinic?” At her sharp glance, he added, “Hazards of a small town. I sent Matt in to pick up Scooter, he’s our drug dog, and he heard you’re supposed to up and quit.”
That’s what everyone expected her to do. She’d been passed over and humiliated. The old Jenna would have told Doc Morris where to go and how fast to get there.
Which is exactly why she’d bit her tongue and said nothing.
She wasn’t going to tell him what a mistake he was making. Rather, she was going to show him.
By doing the right thing, being the right thing. For the first time in her life.
“I’m not quitting. It’s just that there aren’t any good equine facilities around, so I thought I’d revamp things here, add an extra barn, and the capacity to house horses. Then I’ll be in a better position to help with the larger animals.” Morris had her making house calls, but with her own facility, she could actually house the animals on the property and up their level of care. It was a fact he wouldn’t be able to argue with or deny. There might be those who didn’t want the likes of a Tucker on their property, but if she were in a position to provide the best care, well, even those stubborn Sawyers wouldn’t be able to argue with that.
Speaking of the Sawyers …
Her gaze shifted to Hunter. While he didn’t carry the name, he was still a Sawyer through and through. A direct descendant of Elijah Sawyer via his Mimi, Elijah’s youngest daughter and Hunter’s great-grandmother.
Clara Bell Sawyer was the only one of Elijah’s offspring still alive. At ninety-four, she was one of the town’s oldest citizens and the star of this year’s pancake breakfast sponsored by the Rebel Rotary Club.
Hunter looked every bit a Sawyer with his dark hair and good looks. Only his eyes gave any clue that he was part DeMassi. They were a brighter shade of blue fringed in thick, dark lashes. The kind of eyes that sparkled and heated a woman from the inside out.
The last thought struck and she let loose a shaky breath. “I’m not quitting,” she said again. “Just making some major changes.”
“That’s good.”
“Let’s hope.” The words were out before she could stop them. He slid her a questioning expression before static shattered the sudden quiet and his attention shifted to the walkie-talkie.
“You want me to wait on you?” came the familiar male voice.
“Negative,” Hunter said. “Take them to the station. I’ll be right behind you. Again, I’m really sorry,” he told her, his gaze catching and holding hers. “I’d really like to stop by tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
“I … Listen, I know there’s this vibe between us, but…”
“To take one more look around.” The words faded into a small grin that sent a burst of warmth through her. “To see if James Harlin left anything lying around. Before the rafters come down.”
“Oh, um, yeah. Sure. I’ll be home tomorrow evening. Anytime after six. Unless we get an emergency call.”
“Of course.”
“But I might not be the one sent out. There’s another vet at the clinic,” she added. Okay, so she was running off at the mouth, telling Hunter DeMassi about the new vet and the very fact that she wasn’t Dr. Morris’s right hand anymore. “He’s new. Dr. Morris just hired him because we’ve got a really busy workload.”
“I can imagine.”
“Not that I can’t handle lots of work. I love being busy.” She caught the next sentence before it could spill over and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. That’s probably way too much information.”
“It’s fine.” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth and her stomach hollowed out. “I’ll see you tomorrow night barring no emergencies.”
“Sure.”
Oh, boy.
She drew another deep breath and concentrated on closing the door behind him. So what if he was stopping by tomorrow night? It’s not like he was coming to see her. He was still investigating her grandfather’s death.
It was business. Strictly business.
She knew the feeling. She had plenty of her own to tend to. She eyed the boxes sitting here and there and reached for the nearest one.
A few minutes later, she was tossing more magazines onto the fire and praying for even the slightest breeze.
It was definitely going to be one long, hot night.
CHAPTER 5
“Let them go.” Hunter handed the file to Chief Deputy Bobby Sawyer McGuire and motioned to the cell and the two men sitting on the bench behind the iron bars.
“You’re kidding, right?” Bobby shook his head. “These two jokers shot up the Tucker place.”
“It was just two bullets,” one of the men offered. “Why, that ain’t nothing a little spackle cain’t fix.”
“Put a sock in it,” Bobby growled at the man before arching an eyebrow at Hunter. “Are you really serious?”
“They claim they were hunting and accidentally shot in the wrong direction.” Hunter shrugged. “There are no other witnesses to dispute the claim, so let ’em go.”
“Can’t we at least charge them for trespassing?”
They could, but that would undermine Hunter’s entire surveillance operation. His hunch had been right and the men hadn’t seen who’d snuck up on them. They’d been chasing him, but they hadn’t known for sure that it was him, and he meant to keep it that way. That meant no coming forward as an eyewitness. Even more, he couldn’t very well keep tabs on their operation if there was no muscle to keep the still churning. No, he needed to let them go and proceed with the surveillance.
That, and he needed to keep an eye on Jenna Tucker.
“No one was home at the Tucker house,” he said again, raising his voice a notch so as to make sure the two men heard, “so no one’s pressing any charges. A good thing for you two.” Hunter walked forward then, stopping just a foot shy of the cell door. “Those bullets could have done some serious damage if someone had been home.”
“I’m telling you, Sheriff, it was an accident,” Cole Mayweather grumbled. The man was in his midfifties, with snow-white hair and a mustache to match. “That hog climbed right up there on the front porch. I couldn’t let him get away. Why, that sumbitch has been tearing up all my wife’s tomato plants. I promised I’d bring him in for her. Ain’t nobody gets away with poaching on my property.”
“Damn straight,” the other man offered. Monty Mayweather, Cole’s younger brother by three years shrugged. “We almost had him, too.” His gaze caught and held Hunter’s.
No glimmer of recognition. No hint of awareness. Nothing to indicate that the person he’d seen out in the woods had been the local sheriff.
Then again, Hunter had worn civilian clothes for a reason. That, and the cover of darkness had saved his ass in a major way by concealing his identity. They’d only gotten a look at the back of his head.
This time.
He had no doubt that Cole and Monty would step up their precautions from here on out. Maybe even move their still site.
If it, indeed, belonged to them. They could just be the muscle behind the actual moonshiners.
While he wouldn’t consider the middle-aged brothers much when it came to muscle, they had a hardness in their eyes that said they would gladly take down not just a hog, but anything else that crossed them.
He just wasn’t so sure they were actually smart enough to be behind the brewing.
Maybe. Maybe not.
He shook his head, filing away the unanswered questions with the dozens of others that sailed in and out of his head. He had a lot more work to do if he wanted to blow the lid off their moonshine operation, and he couldn’t do it with either man sitting in jail.
“Sheriff?” the female voice crackled over the mic pinned to his collar. “We’ve got a hostage situation.”
“Come again?”
“I just got a c
all from Lorelei Sawyer. She said that Gerald was out picking figs off that tree that sits on the property line when Haywood Tucker climbed over the fence with a twelve-gauge shotgun.”
“Don’t tell me he shot Gerald?”
“Sort of.”
“How do you sort of shoot someone?”
“He shot the heads off of two of his garden gnomes. Said he was going to do even worse to Gerald if he didn’t let loose of his figs. Long story short, Gerald refused to give up the goods, Haywood aimed for another garden gnome that exploded and sent a piece of concrete flying. The concrete nearly decapitated Gerald’s big toe. He’s at the Urgent Care and Lorelei is here to file charges because Haywood is holed up in her greenhouse with her prize-winning roses.”
“That was the short of it?”
“I could have mentioned that he put the remaining garden gnomes in some very interesting sexual positions while he was killing time in the greenhouse, waiting for justice as he called it, but I figured this was need-to-know only.” At that moment, he heard Lorelei Sawyer’s voice in the background as she sent up a vengeful prayer to God to strike Haywood dead with a lightning bolt, or at least blast a certain body part, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the ever-lovin’ Holy Ghost, all three of which knew beyond a doubt that that fig tree was on Sawyer property.
“Tell her to head over to the Urgent Care to check on her husband. I’ll take care of Haywood. You’re damn lucky the Tuckers aren’t pressing any charges,” he said again, trying to convince both shiners that whoever they’d been chasing had been running for cover, not for home. The last thing he wanted was for Cole and Monty to think that Jenna was involved in any way. “And even luckier the house was empty.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cole muttered. “We’re the two luckiest sumbitches alive.” He rolled his eyes. “Are we getting out anytime soon, hoss? I’d like to get home in time to watch Jimmy Fallon.”
“Me, too,” Monty chimed in. “I love Fallon. At the same time, I sure-as-shootin’ wouldn’t mind seeing you drag old Haywood out of that greenhouse and smackdab into one of these cells.” He grinned. “Ain’t nothing better than seeing a Tucker get what’s coming to him.”
Hunter shrugged. “Then again, it is getting kind of late and you boys were trespassing…”
“Sorry, Sheriff,” Cole blurted, throwing up his hands. “Don’t worry about us. We’re going straight home.” He slapped a hand against Monty’s chest. “Ain’t that right, brother?”
“You bet.”
He arched an eyebrow. “No detours?” Both men shook their heads profusely and he motioned to his deputy. “Open it up and get these boys out of here.” Hunter turned on his heel and cast a glance at the storeroom that led to the back door and freedom. He tamped down on the sudden urge to run, to get the hell out of Dodge and never look back.
If only for a little while.
But a small taste would only make him want more and so he did what he always did—he headed for the front of the building and the SUV parked at the curb.
“Shouldn’t you be sending someone else?” Marge asked as he passed the dispatch desk where she stood opposite a frazzled redhead wearing a REBEL COUNTY ROSE CLUB T-shirt and a vengeful expression.
“Bobby’s busy processing paperwork. I’ll take care of Haywood.”
“But you’ve had your nose to the blacktop since the crack of dawn,” Marge reminded him. “Why, I bet you haven’t even ate a lick of supper.”
“What can I say?” Hunter gave her a wink. “Duty calls.” And he answered. He’d made that promise to the good citizens of the town when they’d elected him.
And to himself when he’d said good-bye to his baby brother and his own unreliable ways.
He just wished that keeping his vow, that doing the right thing for the first time in his life, didn’t always feel so fucking wrong.
CHAPTER 6
“… and then he set fire to the greenhouse after he blew Gerald Sawyer’s foot clean off his leg,” came the familiar voice of Ann Louise Sugardale, the silver-haired receptionist who’d been answering phones at the Rebel Veterinary Clinic for longer than Jenna had been alive.
Jenna walked into the main lobby as Miss Ann handed a Visa card back to a young woman who stood opposite the reception desk, a chocolate Lab puppy in one hand and her wallet in the other.
“Clean off?” The young woman’s eyes widened as she slid her card into her purse and shoved it into her bag.
Miss Ann shook her head. “Not ne’er a ligament nor a tendon in sight.” Her voice lowered just a notch as she added, “Just a bloody stump.”
“That’s terrible.”
“That’s a Tucker for you.” Her gaze met Jenna’s at that moment and she shrugged. “No offense, Doc. It’s just, well, you know Haywood and his bunch.”
Trash.
She didn’t say it out loud. Not this time. Not since Jenna had chewed her a new one the last time she’d made a rude comment against the Tuckers.
Still, her pursed lips and wary gaze said it all. She was thinking it. She was also thinking that she ought to find an excuse to grab her purse and get while the getting was good.
Miss Ann knew Jenna’s temper all too well.
“I really didn’t mean nothing,” the older woman started again, but Jenna held up a hand.
“It’s all right, Miss Ann. If Haywood did something so awful, I’m sure he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
The old woman’s look of surprise was worth choking down the anger simmering inside. Almost. But then Miss Ann launched into a tirade about how Haywood had desecrated all of Lorelei Sawyer’s garden statues, from her gnomes to a replica of the Mother Mary that sat atop a birdbath, and Jenna felt the anger roiling again.
But she wasn’t giving in. Not this time.
Not ever again.
She drew a deep, shaky breath, turned her attention to the young boy sitting in a nearby chair and the pet squirrel clutched in his lap. “Looks like you’re next, sweetie.”
“It’s Chipper.” The boy motioned to his squirrel. “She’s not eating like she usually does. My pa said she’s sick.” Worry furrowed his brow. “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure of that.” She gave him a wink and stroked the animal’s soft fur. “Why don’t you come on back and let me have a look?”
She plucked the chart out of the tray on the counter and motioned to a nearby exam room. A smile on her face, she followed the boy inside, effectively shutting off Miss Ann and her description of the now decapitated Mother Mary.
It’s not about Miss Ann. It’s about Chipper. Poor, possibly sick Chipper who needs your full and undivided attention.
“Now,” she murmured as she closed the door and drew another deep breath. “Let’s see what’s going on.”
The squirrel wasn’t sick.
“She’s pregnant,” she told twelve-year-old Chase McIntyre a few minutes later.
The boy’s face went from relieved to excited at the speed of light. “She’s having babies?”
“It would seem so.”
“How many?”
“There’s no way to tell without an ultrasound, but I would make sure you have plenty of warm bedding because it could be quite a few. This breed is known for producing large litters.”
“Why won’t she eat?”
“She’s probably feeling a little picky right now. They do that at first, but when she gets hungry enough, she’ll start eating again. Make sure you give her plenty of food. And these supplements might help.” She retrieved a small bottle from a nearby shelf. “Crush the pill into her food bowl.”
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He gave her a grin, revealing a mouthful of braces. “Thanks Dr. Tucker.”
“Thank you for bringing her in.” She finished making notes in the chart and reached for the door. “Let’s get you checked out.”
Luckily, Miss Ann had lost her captive audience. I
nstead, she looked ready to lose her mind thanks to a crate full of chickens parked on top of the counter. “I can’t just put them all in one chart. If you want the animals seen, they each count as a patient,” she was trying to explain to an ancient-looking man in overalls.
“But it’s one cage,” Shorty Tucker pointed out. Along with Clara Bell Sawyer, Shorty was one of the oldest residents of Rebel, Texas, and Jenna’s cousin three or four times removed. Or maybe he was a great-great-uncle.
She wasn’t sure, she just knew they shared a bloodline somewhere along the way.
Unlike Clara Bell, Shorty still lived independently in a small house at the edge of town. He wore a pair of worn overalls as run-down as his house, a red-and-white VFW POST #202 cap, and an expression that said he wasn’t backing down.
“Everybody knows chickens come in bunches,” Shorty went on. “Ain’t nobody got just one chicken on account of the raccoons pick ’em off one by one. A fella’s got to get himself several chickens. It ain’t about the chickens. It’s about the cage. One cage. So it’s one ticket.”
“Says you,” Miss Ann huffed. “Ten chickens, ten tickets.”
“In one cage,” Shorty insisted. “Hell’s bells, woman, cain’t you count?”
“Listen here, Shorty Tucker, I can count just fine. You’re the one who can’t seem to understand…” Ann went off into a carefully worded explanation about grade school and the fact that Shorty was older than Jesus, which explained why he didn’t rightly remember his math lessons, which earned her an equally scathing response from the old man who pointed out that Jesus had passed her over when he’d been handing out manners and good looks.
Ann’s gasp was so loud that Jenna actually thought about intervening, but then she smiled, plucked the next folder from the desk, and turned to the two Mini Plush Lop rabbits sitting nearby with their owner.
While she wasn’t going to give Ann a piece of her mind, she wasn’t going to deny Shorty the right to his.
“Hello Brad and Angelina,” she murmured as she eyed the fluffy white rabbits before turning to the young woman holding their leashes. “Are we doing shots today?”
Tempting Texas Page 3