Lone Star Lawman

by Joanna Wayne

  Funny, how the old resentments had returned with such force now that Heather Lombardi had dropped into his life. Maybe it was the enthusiasm she felt for a past she didn’t know that triggered his feelings of regret. But nothing changed the truth. He’d spent a lifetime as a loner, never able to connect completely with anyone, never able to take the risks true intimacy involved.

  He couldn’t give Heather what she needed emotionally any more than Jake McQuaid had been able to do that for the women in his life. The difference was that he was smart enough to know it. Heather thought she wanted him now, but that would change quick enough when the newness wore off, when she was faced with life day in and day out with a man who had nothing of himself to give.

  He backed the truck from the carport, turning it around while he waited for Heather. Last night had given her the wrong impression of what he was about. He was nobody’s hero. Nobody to fall in love with.

  She pushed through the screen door, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail and bouncing behind her. Her shirt was a soft yellow that draped over her perfect breasts. Her short denim skirt buttoned in the front and split open just enough to reveal a flash of thigh.

  His heart plummeted to his stomach. Letting himself get mixed up with her was about as smart as squatting with your spurs on. Dumber actually. He’d feel the pain for a whole lot longer.

  He reached over and opened her door and she climbed in.

  “Where are we off to this time?” she asked.

  “Logan Trenton’s.”

  “I thought you’d already talked to him and he’d told you Gabby had all the records.”

  “I’d like to pick his brains before the party, see what he remembers from twenty-five years ago. As far as I’m concerned, the fact that the records from that time are missing is pretty convincing evidence that something was going on back then.”

  “I still don’t see how a woman passing through town could have gotten mixed up in the trouble.”

  “She might have been in on it all along. We don’t know where your mom was living before she dropped you off at the orphanage or what she did before that.”

  “If Logan Trenton knew anything, isn’t it likely he was in on the cover-up? You said he was your father’s deputy during that time.”

  “I’ve thought of that. My hope is either he was and he’s ready to talk now or else he knows something he doesn’t know he knows. Some bit of information that means nothing to him but will unlock a clue for me, if I get him to talk about it.”

  “Maybe he’d speak more freely if I wasn’t around. Drop me off in town. I can visit with Edna or shop. You could pick me up when you finish.”

  “Sure, I’ll drop you off at the motel, and, if it’s convenient, the killer can drop by. After all, he was there a few days ago. He won’t have any trouble finding the place.”

  “Then drop me off at the library. I can look through old newspaper files. Something may turn up there.”

  “Not in our library. We’re too small. We have a few books and the capability of getting whatever you want from the state system if you have a few days to wait.”

  “Then drop me at Paul Ridgely’s feed store. No killer is just going to march into a shop with a bunch of cowboys hanging around, all of them with a gun of some kind in their pickup truck.”

  Matt kept his gaze glued straight ahead. “Are you so eager to be away from me?”

  “No, I’m just not cut out for the role of helpless female. I need to be doing something. At least at Ridgely’s I might be able to ask a few questions myself, talk to some people I haven’t met before.”

  “Okay. I’ll drop you off at the feed store and ask Paul to keep an eye on you. He’s as tough as anyone in town.” He turned and captured Heather’s gaze. “Ask all the questions you want, but don’t leave the store.”

  “Yes sir, Ranger.”

  Matt slowed the truck. There was a blue Camaro pulled to the side of the road in front of them, the hood up. “Looks like someone’s in trouble.”

  “A late-model blue Camaro with a New Mexico license plate. Matt, that’s the same kind of car Rube said he saw driving around town the day before Ariana was killed.”

  Matt pulled off the road, coming to a stop behind the car. “You’re getting good at this.” He opened his door. “Wait here. I need to check this out.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Always.” Matt touched his hand to the gun at his waist as he approached the car. There was no sign of movement. He circled the vehicle, peering through the windows. There were a couple of old blankets in the back seat and some dirty clothes on the floor, but not a sign of the driver.

  Turning his eyes toward a nearby area where the brush grew thick enough to hide a man, he touched his hand to the motor. Cool as a cucumber. He made a second trip around the car, examining the ground around the vehicle.

  Pulling the driver’s side door open, he reached inside the car and punched the trunk latch. As he did, he heard his truck door slamming behind him, and turned to find Heather striding toward him.

  “I thought I told you to stay put.”

  “You did, but there’s no one around here. I could see that.”

  She followed him to the back of the car and stood beside him while he yanked the trunk open. A string of curses escaped before he even thought about curtailing them.

  Heather inched closer. “The man must have robbed a gun store.”

  “With the intent to equip a small army. There’s enough assault rifles in here to conquer a Third-World country.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “That there’s a dangerous lunatic on foot somewhere around Dry Creek.” He went back to the truck and grabbed his cellular phone, punching in the number to get a license-plate check.

  It took less than three minutes to determine that the car was a stolen one. Matt’s next call was to Gabby.

  “What’s up, Matt? You just caught me. I was about to run out to Ben Wright’s to check out a complaint on one of his wranglers who got a little rowdy at Cushman’s Bar last night.”

  “This takes precedence. I just came upon a deserted vehicle on the side of the highway about a mile past the entrance to Billinger’s place as you’re coming into town. A blue Camaro, stolen, with a small arsenal in the trunk. We need it checked for prints, and we need the border guys out here with their dogs to do an intensive drug search.”

  “What kind of guns are we talking?”

  “Five assault rifles and a sawed-off shotgun, nothing you’d need for hunting legitimate game.”

  “Which means the man probably has an automatic pistol or two in his pocket or strapped to his leg, possibly a .44 Magnum.”

  “Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Gabby.”

  “No, but I don’t want to find any buzzards circling. I’ll get a bulletin on the radio not to pick up any hitchhikers in this area.”

  “My guess is somebody already has.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way, Matt. I’ll have the deputy here alert the state highway boys.”

  Matt broke the connection and turned to Heather. “I want you to stay in the truck with the doors locked until I get back. If you see anyone approach, lean on the horn and I’ll tear back down here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check out the surrounding area, especially that cluster of thick brush to the left of the windmill.”

  Adrenaline shot through Heather, fed by a fear that was raging out of control. “You can’t go out there alone.”

  “I’m a Ranger. This is what I get paid to do.”

  “Then wait for back-up.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard the old quote, ‘One riot, one Ranger’? Well, this is one criminal, one Ranger. The odds are all with me.”

  “You don’t know there’s only one.”

  “Yes, I do. From the appearance of the ground, only one person left the car, and that was from the driver’s side.”

  “The ground may be too hard for prints
on the passenger side.”

  “Footprints aren’t the only sign a man’s walked a path. There’s bent and broken blades of grass, overturned stones, slight impressions in the dirt. I’ve tracked men along the border before with a lot less to go on than there is here.”

  “Do the tracks you see lead in that direction?” she asked, motioning toward the brush.

  “No, I wish they did. They appear to lead from the car door to the front of the vehicle and then to the road, but I’d like to look around a little more anyway.”

  Heather’s breath caught, burning dry in her lungs. She leaned against the back of the car to support legs that had suddenly grown wobbly beneath her. “If someone gave the man a ride, and he’s the man who killed Ariana... Oh, Matt, we have to do something. Someone else could be in danger.”

  He nodded, his lips drawn, his eyes stormy. “So get in the truck and lock the door.”

  Heather did, all but holding her breath until she saw Matt heading safely back in her direction. The sigh of relief was short-lived, as terrible visions began to flash through her mind.

  Was the man who’d deserted the Camaro the same man who had put a bullet through Ariana’s chest? Was he the man who was looking for her? Were death and murderous strangers the legacy of Kathy Warren?

  No. She couldn’t think that way. There was no proof her birth mother was tied to this man or to Ariana. Still, she didn’t put up an argument when Matt told her he wouldn’t be dropping her off at Ridgely’s store. She’d be going to Logan Trenton’s ranch with him.

  THE OVERALL-CLAD FARMER eyed the man he’d picked up on the side of road. “I don’t know where you’re going, unless it’s to Trenton’s country. His is the only place this far out of town.”

  “Yeah, Trenton, that’s it. He’s a friend of mine. He’ll give me a ride back into town and help me get the parts for my car.”

  “Yep. I wouldn’t leave my car on the road too long if I was you, though. Used to be a man didn’t take nothing that wasn’t rightfully his, but times have changed.”

  “You’re right. You never know what kind of man is on the road or what they’re after.”

  “Yep.” The farmer fished a toothpick from his pocket and poked at his teeth. “I don’t ordinarily pick up hitchhikers myself, but I hate to see a guy stranded with car trouble the way you were. I’ve been in that spot myself. In fact, one time I was—”

  The man cut him off. “You got a smoke?”

  “No, I gave up cigarettes years ago. Where are you from, anyway? You aren’t from around these parts.”

  “Out west.”

  The farmer slowed to a stop at the dirt road. “It’s a good ways from the gate to the house. I’d take you all the way myself, but I’m running way late for my doctor’s appointment up in San Antonio.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll get where I’m going.” He jumped from the truck without bothering with a thank-you for the ride.

  Strange fellow, the farmer decided, as he watched him leave the road, crawl between the rows of barbed wire and trudge into the brush. Still, if he was a friend of Logan’s, he was probably all right.

  He revved his engine and pulled his truck back onto the road. He had a long, lonesome drive in front of him. He should have gotten his radio fixed. Then he could have at least had some music to keep him company.

  Chapter Eleven

  Logan Trenton swung open the door as soon as Matt and Heather knocked, and ushered them into a massive den, paneled in pine and studded with the heads of game he’d snared in remote parts of the globe. The room made a statement of masculinity and power. So did the man.

  Heather studied him during the introductions. He was tall, his Western shirt and string tie impeccable, his white Stetson spotless, his voice commanding. Gray touched his hair at the temples, adding distinction to his sun- and wind-roughened face, and his smile was polished and quick, though it never quite spread to his eyes. He had more the air of a politician than a South Texas rancher. And Heather definitely couldn’t see him as ever having been a small-town sheriff.

  He took her hand, holding it firmly in his instead of shaking it, and she felt his eyes move over her body, sizing her up. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Lombardi. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Yes, I seem to be the talk of the town.”

  “Well, we’re all very sorry about that. I hate to even think what kind of men would attack a defenseless lady. I’ve told Matt and Gabby that I’d be more than happy to share my resources, an extra man or two, my small plane, anything I have if it would help in finding and arresting the two men who were responsible.”

  Matt fingered his hat. “We appreciate that, Logan. Right now, all I need are some answers.”

  “So you said.” He offered a patronizing smile. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. I’ve got to be in Uvalde by noon on some business.”

  “I suggest we get started then.”

  Matt started across the polished wood floor of the gigantic den toward the couch. Logan and Heather were left to follow.

  “Matt McQuaid.”

  They all turned as a striking young woman in jeans and an embroidered western shirt popped into the room. She fell into Matt’s arms, then pulled away to give him a once-over.

  “I’d heard you were in town, but I didn’t know you were coming out to the ranch today. You look great.” Her voice was deep, her Texas drawl abbreviated, as if she’d been away for quite a while.

  Matt gave her an approving smile. “Not nearly as good as you. I’d say the last few years have agreed with you.” Matt took Heather’s hand and tugged her closer. “Forgive my manners. Heather, this is Logan’s stepdaughter, Sylvia.”

  Heather extended her hand and finished the introductions herself. “Heather Lombardi. And I hear congratulations are in order.”

  “That’s right. It took me long enough, but as of next week, I’ll be Dr. Sylvia McCullough, child psychologist.”

  “That sounds like an interesting career choice.”

  “I’m a natural at it. I’ve analyzed myself for long enough. I tried it with Matt, as well, but he’s resistant to exploring his feelings. Like most of the men around here, he pretends his skin is cowhide, too thick for anything to get through.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Matt grimaced.

  Logan laid an arm around his stepdaughter’s shoulders, and Heather couldn’t help noticing how quickly she jerked away. But if her stepfather noticed the reaction, he didn’t let on. “We tough-skinned men need to talk business, Sylvia. I’m going to take Matt back to my office. Why don’t you take Miss Lombardi out to the stables and show her your graduation present?”

  “Please, call me Heather,” she said.

  Sylvia stepped away from Logan and nearer to Heather. “Word is you’re in Dry Creek to try and locate your birth mother.”

  “Yes, so far without luck. Her name was Kathy Warren. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of her?”

  “Not offhand. You can tell me more about it on our way to the stables.”

  Heather shot Matt a questioning look. He’d been specific that she was not to go off by herself.

  He hesitated, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans, his gaze somber. “I don’t suppose it could hurt to go to the stables with Sylvia. There’ll be wranglers around,” he said, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. He turned to Sylvia. “But don’t be long. I still have more stops to make today.”

  “No, we won’t be long.” She tossed her head back and her long, straight black hair fell about her shoulders. She was a little older than Heather, closer to Matt’s age. Heather couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more than friendship between her and Matt in the past.

  Who could blame either of them if there had been?

  They said their goodbyes, and Sylvia led the way as they left the men and went out through the back door, the same way Heather and Matt had come in. Even with a killer roaming the streets, Dry Creek wa
s a back-door neighborly kind of town.

  “We’ll take my four-wheel-drive. That way we can take the short cut and not stick to the road,” Sylvia announced, marching toward a red Jeep with the doors and windows removed.

  “How far is it to the stables?”

  “Not more than a mile the way we’re going. It’s a couple if you take the main ranch road.”

  “How big is this ranch?”

  “The San Jose is 150,000 acres.” She jerked the vehicle into gear. “When I hit thirty-five, half of it will belong to me.”

  “Sounds like a nice trust fund.”

  “It is. My grandfather saw to that before he died. It was a good thing, because Mom left her half to Logan and he’s not a man given to sharing.” Sylvia took her eyes from the bumpy dirt path and stared at Heather. “Looks like someone worked you over pretty good.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the details. You’d be the only one in Dry Creek if you’ve missed out.”

  “I’ve heard a little. I quit asking questions about Dry Creek as soon as I turned eighteen and got the hell out of town. I’ve been back very seldom since.” She slowed for a heifer that had wandered across their path. “If I’d known Logan was going to throw a prodigal-daughter graduation party, I would have stayed away a while longer.”

  “I imagine he’s glad to have you home.”

  “No, it scares him to death to think I might want to come back and take control of my half of the McCullough estate.”

  “Do you?”

  “No, not as long as I have to share the land with Logan. When he’s dead, I may reconsider. Or maybe not. I’ve made a new life.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. In spite of all Heather had been through herself in the last few days, she felt sorry for the troubled woman who rode beside her. She had wealth, beauty and a new career ahead of her, but she obviously harbored a few family resentments. No wonder she and Matt were friends.

  Heather ducked and leaned toward the center of the Jeep as they passed a little too close to the branches of a scrubby mesquite tree. “Were you and Matt childhood friends?”