Lone Star Lawman

by Joanna Wayne

  Silence hung on the line, accusing, pleading. It was difficult to refuse Susan anything, but more difficult to return home and play the role of loving, respectful son, especially now.

  “Think about it, Matty. If you won’t do it for yourself or Jake, do it for me. I’ve caused a rift in this family long enough. I can’t carry the pain of that to the grave.”

  “The problem is between Jake and me, Susan. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me. You think Jake robbed me of respectability. He didn’t. Like you and your brothers, he paid the price for mistakes I made before I was old enough to know what life was about. You know the truth of that now and you have to accept it.”

  “I accept that you make it awfully convenient for Jake to do exactly as he pleases, to play life his way, by his own self-serving rules.”

  “He lives life the only way he knows how, the same as you do.” Her voice fell to a pain-filled whisper. “Come home, Matty. A quick visit for your father’s birthday. Is that so much to ask?”

  Matt shifted the phone to the other ear. His gaze cut to the front door and the darkness that was settling like a veil over his world. “Don’t count on me, Susan. Not this time.”

  Her sigh cut through the static that was forming on the line. “I am counting on you. I need you here and so does Jake. And you need to be here for yourself. You’re a part of this family and always will be.”

  Left without an argument, Matt shifted the conversation to impersonal topics, the weather, the dry spell in South Texas that was threatening to turn serious. But the tension created by Susan’s pleas continued to cloud the conversation, and by the time he hung up the phone, Matt was sweating.

  He walked back to the porch, this time easing to the swing beside Heather. He rubbed his clammy hands together, then wiped them on the rough denim that covered his thighs. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”

  “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

  “Jake McQuaid’s sixty-fifth birthday is approaching. I was invited to the party.”

  “You’ll go, of course.”

  “I have a murderer to catch. Speaking of which, where were we?”

  Heather sensed more than saw the change in Matt, although the signs were not invisible. The cocky, self-assured Ranger had drawn inside himself, leaving his shoulders to sag and his eyes and chin to drop. She longed to question him further about Susan’s call, but she knew it would be a waste of time. Matt talked only when he was ready.

  “We were discussing the murder of Billy Roy Lassiter,” she said, dreading more than ever what she had to say.

  “Billy Roy.” Matt drummed his fingers against the swing’s wooden armrest. “The man whose grave you discovered in the McCullough family cemetery. I asked a few questions about him today in town.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “That the mention of his name stops conversation cold.” Matt tensed, his muscles drawn and pulling at the fabric of his shirt. His face twisted into hard, unforgiving lines. He turned to face her, his eyes a frigid shade of gray. “Tell me exactly what Sylvia told you.”

  Heather did, wincing inside as she uttered the words of accusation.

  “So Sylvia thinks Jake killed Billy Roy Lassiter,” he said when she’d finished the statement. “Evidently the rest of Dry Creek does, too. Why else would they clam up so tight at the sound of his name?”

  Matt didn’t protest the accusation. The only sign he gave that it affected him at all was the burst of energy that pulled him from the swing and had him pacing the porch.

  “I didn’t want to tell you what she said about your father, Matt, but in view of Ariana’s murder, I felt I had to. But Sylvia’s saying it doesn’t make it so. And if everyone in town believed it, why didn’t someone do something before now?” She stood and walked over to him.

  “Why? Because it’s Jake McQuaid.”

  “What will you do?”

  “The only thing I can. If he’s innocent, I’ll prove it. If he’s guilty, I’ll prove that, too.” He turned and faced Heather, his eyes dark pools of determination. “The only thing that doesn’t add up is that the law was Jake’s life, part of the code of justice that ruled him. It was more important to him than even his own children. It’s hard accepting that he prostituted that the way he did his women.”

  Heather slid into his arms. She needed his closeness, but even that didn’t give her warmth tonight. “There are other Rangers who can take over this investigation. Give up the case, Matt. If you don’t, it might destroy you.”

  “I can’t.” He tilted her chin so that she had to look him in the eye. “I told you. My father’s blood runs through me. I have to do what I have to do. That’s why I’m no good for you, no good for any woman.”

  “Or maybe you just never met a woman who could handle you until now, Matt McQuaid.” His arms tightened around her, but she pulled herself from his grasp. She’d just thrown down a gauntlet, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to meet her own challenge. She didn’t even know where the words had come from.

  “I’ll finish making dinner,” she said, pulling the screen door open. She peeked her head back out, stopping the door just before it closed behind her. “You might want to clean up. We’re dining by candlelight. Even on a ranch, a lady needs some social amenities.”

  MATT SHUDDERED as Heather disappeared from sight. He felt as if he’d been turned inside out and back again in the last few minutes. The reminder that so many people apparently believed his father was a murderer had left a raw lining in his stomach—which could usually handle the hottest of chili peppers.

  But he’d shower and play gentleman rancher for the lady of the Lone M if that’s what she wanted. He’d play all her games, maybe even pretend for a few minutes that he was the man she thought he was. Hell, he’d ride a wild stallion for her if he thought it would make the next few days any easier.

  Susan Hathaway, Kathy Warren, Billy Roy Lassiter and Jake McQuaid. Somehow, they were all tied together in a plot that someone would still kill to keep secret twenty-five years after the fact. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and ran his fingers along the jagged edge of the note that rested there. This time the warning had been delivered to Matt, stuck under the windshield wiper of his truck while it had been parked in town.

  Ranger: Let the search for Kathy Warren end before the lives of good people are ruined over something that can’t be changed. If you don’t, you will live to regret it. You and your girlfriend.

  But what were a few more regrets to a man like him?

  It was Heather he was worried about now. He’d do whatever he had to in order to keep her safe, even if it meant defying the law he was sworn to protect. More of the legacy of Jake McQuaid.

  As for Jake McQuaid, he prayed Sylvia was wrong, though he had suspected Jake might be involved from the first sign of missing records. If Jake were arrested on murder charges it would tear the heart out of Susan. She would never forgive Matt for digging up the past. Maybe he’d never forgive himself, though he had no choice now.

  Every muscle in Matt’s body ached as he headed for a hot shower. He felt like a grain of sand caught up in a dust storm, powerless to stop the events that whirled around him, powerless to dictate where it would all end.

  HEATHER FISHED fresh green beans from the pot, spooning boiled potatoes around them in the serving bowl. She’d snapped the beans herself—a neighbor had brought over a gift of vegetables from her garden—and rummaged in Matt’s poorly stocked pantry for seasonings.

  His freezer, however, was another story. There were packages of corn, squash, carrots and other summer vegetables, all zipped neatly away in freezer bags labeled with dates and the names of one or another of his neighbors.

  Evidently the women of Dry Creek took good care of their resident Texas Ranger. And he had his own supply of meat, every cut of beef imaginable. She’d made beef Stroganoff, one of her specialties.

  Standing back, she admired her h
andiwork. The plates didn’t match, but the colors of the food prettied up the table. All in the presentation, that’s what the few ladies’ magazines she’d found time to read said. Hot pads in hand, she added the finishing touch, a big bowl of sweet corn, still on the cob.

  Funny, cooking for just herself had always seemed a chore. Scavenging around in Matt’s much less modern and meagerly stocked kitchen had actually been fun. Or had the pleasure been in the anticipation of sitting across the table from him, watching him eat, and listening to him talk?

  He claimed to be all wrong for her, all wrong for any woman, but every moment she spent with him convinced her differently. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if the attraction that pulled her to him would be this great if it weren’t for the danger that hung over her head like an anvil about to drop.

  She touched her fingers to her hair, pushing the loose wisps back in place, and then went into the bedroom to smudge a tint of color to her lips. Steam and the sound of running water beating against the plastic shower curtain seeped through the cracks around and under the door.

  In her mind’s eye she saw Matt, naked, streams of water running down the angles and planes of his body, imagined the hair on his chest, wet and curled in the running water. The images churned inside her, and she leaned against the door, weak with desire. How could she want a man she barely knew this badly?

  The door squeaked open and she lost her balance, falling inside far enough to catch herself on the counter. Matt peeked around the edge of the curtain. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out too soft, shattered by the emotion reeling inside her.

  “Come here, Heather.” Matt pushed the curtain aside and reached out a hand.

  “The floor is getting wet.”

  “Let it.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. The heat from the shower mingled with the fire inside her. Breathless, she tried to pull away. “You’re getting my clothes wet.”

  “We can take care of that.” His wet hands slid beneath her shirt, his fingers hot and damp on her skin as he raised her shirt and pulled it over her head. She didn’t move, barely daring to breathe as he wrapped his arms around her, loosened the clasp on her bra and let it drop to the floor.

  Shaking, she stepped out of her shoes, and Matt tucked his hands under her arms and lifted her into the tub, jeans and all. Water splashed around and over her breasts and face, but all she felt were Matt’s lips on hers.

  When she came up for air, she was trembling, her hair straggling into her face, but she still felt more sexy and desirable than ever before in her life. “I usually shower alone,” she whispered, “and with all my clothes off.”

  “What a waste of good water. This way you can do your laundry, make love and get clean all at the same time.” He soaped his hands and rubbed them over her breasts until soft snowy peaks highlighted her nipples.

  Heather returned the favor, soaping Matt’s chest and then his buttocks between kisses. Laughing, he pulled on the waist of her jeans until the snap gave. Using his teeth, he unzipped her.

  She nibbled his wet earlobe. “The hidden side of Matt McQuaid. Do the other Rangers know you have this knack for conserving water?”

  “If they do, they know me better than I knew myself. I’ve never behaved like this before.” He kissed her again, thoroughly, boggling her brain. “You bring out the worst in me,” he whispered, peeling the wet denim from her body.

  “If this is the worst, I don’t know if I’m up for the best.”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  The next few minutes were a symphony of movements and feelings, of words and moans of pleasure. Heather drowned in pleasure time after time, only to come back to life with a new touch by Matt. By the time they climbed out of the shower, she was too weak to do more than wrap herself in a towel and collapse across the bed.

  Matt, on the other hand, was obviously refreshed and raring to go. She heard him padding through the house, singing a country song and calling to her. “All that and you cook, too. But you better hurry. Our candles are burning out.”

  She struggled into a pair of dry jeans and a white shirt. “Don’t tell me you have enough energy left to eat,” she challenged as she fell into the chair opposite him.

  “Are you kidding? I’m famished.” He passed the bowl of beans to her. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember stopping for lunch today.”

  He settled into eating, and within moments the quiet routine snatched away the few minutes of pleasure they’d stolen in the shower. Heather could almost see the worries of the day claiming him again, dragging his spirits down and changing his eyes from black gold to dusty coal.

  But nothing could steal her happiness away. She wouldn’t let it. She’d learned something about Matt in the last few days. The passion that drove him wasn’t all for the law that ruled him. He could feel that same passion for a woman. She’d experienced that firsthand.

  Maybe this was the gift Kathy Warren had left behind for the daughter she’d never known. A meeting with Matt McQuaid. Perhaps even now her birth mother was looking down from heaven and smiling on their union. If so. she still had her work cut out for her.

  There was a murder to solve before either Heather or Matt could be free to go on with their lives. And she knew Matt still had to be convinced that he could handle a long-term relationship—that even though he was his father’s son, he was still his own man.

  Because Heather wouldn’t settle for what Susan Hathaway had. When this was over, she’d only stay in Dry Creek as Matt’s wife.

  THE THREE MEN HUDDLED in the back of the barn. Outside, the sun flirted with the horizon, spreading rays of red and gold across the graying sky. Inside, darkness was winning, letting mere splotches of light sneak between the shadows.

  “I never meant for things to go this far.” The shorter man tugged at the neck of his shirt, pulling it away from his Adam’s apple. A drop of sweat worked its way down his collar.

  “What are you going to do now?” The tall, lanky man ran callused fingers through his graying hair. His question was directed to the man who always took control.

  “We don’t have a lot of choice, do we?”

  “I don’t like it,” the short man complained again.

  “Are you willing to go to jail for life, that is, if the jury’s reasonably friendly? If they’re not, you could be talking the death penalty.”

  The tall man hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. 1 just don’t know.”

  “I do. I’ll take care of everything tomorrow night at the party. My plan is foolproof.”

  “You’re talking about killing innocent people.” The stench of his words filled his lungs and the man moved toward the door for a breath of fresh air.

  “It’s no different than it was when we killed Billy Roy.”

  “It’s a lot different. I was young, and drunk. And the victim then wasn’t so innocent.”

  “Susan Hathaway was.”

  The old cowboy felt sick to his stomach. “She wasn’t part of the original plan. I’ve always felt guilty for what we did to her. The both of you have, too. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

  “Not a day goes by I don’t regret what we done.” The tall man leaned against a giant roll of feeder hay. “Maybe we should just hold off. No one’s found us out for a quarter of a century. We could keep quiet and take our chances.”

  “And you think Matt McQuaid will pack up and go away? You know his reputation. He’s tougher than nails and persistent as a hungry mosquito.”

  “He’s Jake McQuaid’s youngest son and the heart of Susan Hathaway.” The shorter man backed away from the other two, suddenly loath to look at them. “I’ll take no part in killing him or Heather Lombardi. It was bad enough when you hired those two ruffians that beat her up so bad. You’d promised they’d only frighten her into leaving town.”

  “Even the beating didn’t frighten her enough to run her off. She’s not rea
sonable, but you’d better be. We’re all in this together, and we stick together or swing together. It’s the only way.” The man stepped closer to his reluctant friend.

  “Then we swing together. We done the deed. We’ll pay the price if it comes to that.” The man who spoke thought of his wife and how she’d die of grief if she knew the truth about him. “I hope it don’t,” he said. “I sure hope it don’t, but I’ll take the risk.”

  The man in charge wrapped his hand around the knife in his pocket. He didn’t like the spot he was in. but he’d do what had to be done. “You might be willing to take the risk, Paul, but I’m not.”

  HEATHER ROLLED THE PEN between her fingers. “Let’s try another scenario, Matt. Suppose my mother had nothing at all to do with the death of Billy Roy Lassiter or Susan’s beating. Suppose she just got out of Cass Purdy’s car and caught a bus to New Orleans that night.”

  “That makes perfect sense except for the fact that as soon as you arrived in town asking about her, you fell into a heap of trouble.” He wadded the sheet of paper in front of him and hurled it across the room.

  “But that could be because I said she was here in mid-October, twenty-five years ago. If I’d killed Billy Roy, I wouldn’t want anyone digging up the past, especially if the past correlated that closely with the time of the murder.”

  “I’d buy the possibility of that scenario if we only had the threatening note. I’d give it a scrap of consideration if we added some guys roughing you up. But throw in planting explosives in your car and killing Ariana, and it blows your theory out of the corral. A man doesn’t kill to cover up a murder he’s gotten away with for years unless he has damn good reason to believe his secrets are about to be uncovered.”

  “I just wish the man who’d gone to Cass Purdy’s looking for me; the one who showed up at my apartment the day Ariana was killed, would show up again. It’s possible that he’s a member of Kathy Warren’s family, that he could unravel this mystery.”

  “You’re clutching at a broken rein, Heather. I’ve told you before, the chances of that man being a member of your family are slim to none. He’s more likely a paid killer whose job is to make sure you don’t get the chance to find out too much.”