by Mindy Neff
“The right side was harder to figure out, but it seems to be tapping out the suit. Hearts is one dit, diamonds is two dits, spades is three and clubs is four. With practice, I imagine a person could get pretty good at distinguishing the two sides and feeling the sounds.”
“Feeling the sounds?” Becca asked.
“Terminology. That’s how we learn code—through sound.”
He was truly enjoying this, Becca thought. And so were the rest of the men. What was it about probing into the innards of something, be it an engine or the workings of a watch, that would draw the attention of every guy within seeing or hearing distance?
“Apparently,” Colby said, “my great-grandpa Dan’s watch is a high-tech cheating device.” He glanced up at Becca. “There goes your theory about any redeeming ancestors in my family tree.”
“Colby, your great-grandfather has been dead for a lot of years. There’s no telling who’s had this watch in the meantime.”
“Probably got passed down to my old man. I told you he was always looking to win at the lottery or at cards.”
Becca stepped back to give him more room to ruin the watch. Besides, Jack, Linc, Storm and Beau were all breathing down Colby’s neck.
“There it is,” Colby said at last, pointing to a tiny part with the tip of his knife. “I’ll bet that little gizmo is a computer chip.”
The men studied the insides of the watch. Becca couldn’t tell one part from the next.
“I’ll see that bet,” Storm said, “and raise you one. I’m betting this here card reader is what someone was after the night they broke into Becca’s shop.”
Colby nodded thoughtfully. “The timing’s right. Becca gave me the watch the week before the break-in. It might have taken that long for the owner to track down who’d bought it.”
All the men turned to Becca.
“Do you remember what estate sale you bought the watch at?” Storm asked.
“Actually, I found it at a pawnshop in Austin. And I’d had it about a week before I gave it to Colby.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d bought it at a pawnshop?” Colby asked.
“You didn’t ask. Besides, I gave you the watch as a gift. I’m not in the habit of telling someone where I bought their gift. You’re the one who assumed I’d picked up something at an estate sale that someone wanted back.”
“A pawnshop does make more sense,” Storm said. “Chances are, the guy expected to get it back out of hock before it was sold.”
“Or maybe it was stolen from him,” Becca said. “And that person hocked it, thinking it was just a regular watch.”
“I doubt it,” Linc said. “If it was stolen, the watch’s owner wouldn’t know to go to the pawnshop and harass them into giving out the name and address of who bought it—which is what I’m thinking might have happened. I’m sure if we pay a call to the pawnbroker we can get a little information of our own.”
“Of course this is all speculation,” Storm interjected. “The break-in at Becca’s could have been totally random.”
“Ha!” Donetta said. “And pigs’ll be flying down Main Street in the morning.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, for shooting down my attempt to stop a group of well-meaning vigilantes.”
“Well,” Tracy Lynn said, “at least we’re well-meaning. Right, girls?” She looked around, and Becca, Sunny and Donetta nodded.
“I was referring to the men in the room,” Storm said, raking a hand through his hair.
Becca nearly laughed. Her girlfriends were as fierce as any group of men.
“I’d like to remind all of you that this is a law-enforcement matter,” Storm said, and held out his hand for the watch.
Colby passed it to him.
Donetta scooted next to her husband. “Ooh. I just love it when he goes all Texas Ranger on us.”
“That’s Sheriff, darlin’. Let’s keep our departments current.”
She gave her husband a sassy wink and they all laughed.
“I’ll go get you a plastic bag so you don’t lose any of them little parts,” Beau said, getting up from the table.
Becca was distracted, still staring at the open watch case. She had the name of the pawnshop in her files at the store. It wasn’t a place she frequented. She’d been passing by, seen the shop and gone in on a whim, coming out half an hour later feeling as though the trip had been pure synchronicity.
Because she’d found a piece of Colby’s past.
And it had given her an excuse to contact him.
In the end, she’d chickened out and mailed it to him—all the way across the street, for crying out loud. And he had thanked her by mail as well.
Now look at them. Sleeping in the same bed, under the same roof.
All because of a watch. And a drunken promise. Both of which had been given with no strings attached.
That pretty much summed up their relationship.
Colby’s light touch at her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts.
“You okay, sugar?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. “What now? Do you think the pawnbroker will tell us who pawned the watch? Or admit it if he gave out my name and address?”
“I’ll check it out,” Storm said. “I have jurisdiction in parts of Austin—and buddies in the parts I don’t. We’ll get some answers.” The sudden seriousness of his expression and tone reminded everyone in the room that Sheriff Storm Carmichael, ex Texas Ranger, wasn’t a man to be trifled with. “Meanwhile, I’ll send this watch to the crime lab. We’ve got some really sharp techie guys there. I have a feeling, though, that they’ll come up with the same answer that Colby has. That this is a high-tech cheating device.”
Colby locked his gaze with Storm’s. “I’d like to go with you when you pay a call to that pawnshop,” he said. “Seeing as it’s my watch and likely someone in my distant family responsible for what happened to Becca, I think I’ve got a pretty strong stake in the outcome.”
He hoped to God the cheating crook didn’t turn out to be his old man.
13
The next afternoon, Becca was practically beside herself waiting for Colby to get back. He’d gone with Storm to Arturo’s Pawnshop. Lord, she hoped he didn’t get in a fight or anything. Colby was an easygoing guy, but he was really mad about her being injured during the break-in.
Funny, she’d never known before that he had such a protective streak.
She told herself that Storm would keep Colby in line. Darn it, though, if he came back with skinned knuckles, she was going to be very upset.
The back door opened and she whirled around.
“Colby! Why are you sneaking in the back? Let me see you. Are you okay? Did you find out anything? Why—”
He kissed her, then grinned down at her indignant look. “I didn’t sneak in. Storm stopped by to see Donetta and dropped me off behind her shop, so I walked the rest of the way—the whole two stores length. And I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I was worried you’d get in a fight or something.”
“I’m a lover, sugar pie. Not a fighter.”
She ran her gaze over him, raised an eyebrow. “How come your shirt’s untucked?”
He shrugged, reached down and tucked it in. “Must have forgotten when I stopped to use the john.”
“Tell the truth and shame the devil.”
“There was no violence. Honest.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“Yes. Storm has a name. He’s tracking the guy down as we speak—well, after he visits for a minute with his wife. Then he’ll be on his way to bring the guy in for questioning.”
“Is it anyone you know?” She held her breath. Colby had finally admitted to her last night that he feared his father was somehow involved—even if he hadn’t seen his dad in close to twenty years.
“No. Some guy by the name of Buster Derkin pawned the watch. He wanted Arturo to hold it, but Arturo’s assistant didn’t know about the arrangement and sold it
to you. Derkin wasn’t a happy camper when he came back and found his watch sold.”
“Did Arturo give Buster Derkin my name and address?”
“Yes, the scum. Told Derkin to go buy it back from you. We know what good old Buster did from there.”
“Mmm. Why do you suppose he didn’t try to come back after his first attempt?”
Colby shrugged. “Maybe because I’ve been here. Or maybe he was in here long enough that night to satisfy himself that you no longer had the watch and he gave up.”
“You could be right. I might have caught him on his way out and he just panicked. Poor guy. He probably had gambling debts and was desperate.”
“I can’t believe you! Are you actually defending the guy who beat you black-and-blue, broke your hand and caused you to have a permanent scar on your head?”
“He didn’t beat me black-and-blue—there were only two blows.”
“Becca Sue, your side is still discolored. So don’t be going all soft, because chances are, you’ll have to testify against him.”
“How can I do that if I never saw him?”
Colby didn’t answer her question. His muscles had gone rigid. He was looking out the front window.
Becca followed his gaze. She saw a tall man wearing a western-cut business suit, snakeskin boots and a wide-brim Stetson getting out of a black Mercedes-Benz. Alighting from the passenger side was a beautiful, statuesque blonde, her hair cut in a sleek shoulder-length pageboy. She wore a pale yellow, summer-weight suit, the skirt hitting several inches above her knees, and high-heeled pumps.
Becca felt a twinge of alarm. Why did it suddenly feel like doomsday?
“Becca Sue, I—”
He didn’t finish what he’d been about to say. The bell over the front door jingled. The tall man breezed in with a good-natured, robust laugh and booming voice.
“Thought we’d find you here,” the man said. He shook hands with Colby. “Figured we ought to come see for ourselves what the holdup was and see if we could hurry you along.”
“Steven, this is Becca Sue Ellsworth,” Colby introduced. “Becca Sue, Steven and Cassandra Wells.”
“How do you do, young lady,” Steven said with a smile and held out his hand.
“Don’t squeeze,” Colby warned. “She’s still healing from a broken hand.”
Steven took Becca’s hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a soft, gallant kiss on her knuckles. “Pleased to meet you, Becca Sue.”
Cassandra gave a soft laugh. “Daddy’s a bit dramatic. How are you, Becca Sue?”
Proving that she didn’t particularly care about the answer, she turned to Colby. “Hey, Colby.” She leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek with a familiarity that showed she believed her affection was welcome. Becca’s heart sank.
“D’you suppose we can drag you off to dinner?” Steven asked. “We’ve got some catching up to do. And I brought the files on the Saturn Oil case.”
“I don’t know,” Colby said, glancing at Becca.
“Oh, forgive my manners. Becca Sue’s welcome to join us, if she’d like.” Steven smiled pleasantly. So did Cassandra, though a bit more strained.
The woman would make a good politician’s wife, Becca thought. Or a high-powered attorney’s.
The only one who was clearly uncomfortable was Colby. And she knew why.
This was his ship, waiting for him at the dock. And he was hesitating because of her.
For a while, they’d allowed themselves to get caught up in a fairy-tale world. Intimacy had a way of confusing your emotions, messing with your head.
But Becca was determined not to stand in the way of Colby’s future dreams. He’d been totally up front with her, told her flat-out that he couldn’t promise her forever. He’d only signed on for three weeks—which he’d ended up stretching to four and a half—hoping to leave Becca with her future dream.
She didn’t know if they’d been successful, but she’d find out soon.
“No,” she said, “y’all go on. I’ve still got a while before I close up here. And I’ve got inventory in the back that just came in. Besides, I know y’all have a big case to discuss.” She looked at Colby. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive. Go.” She practically pushed him out the door, all the while hoping he’d choose her over these city people. It was silly, really. Well, she wouldn’t show her yearning by so much as a twitch. He was uncomfortable enough.
He was faced with what he wanted out of life, and trying not to hurt her in the process.
That was a joke. She’d known all along she’d get hurt. She was prepared. Had walked into this with her eyes wide open. No strings attached.
She watched the three of them file out the door, kept her smile in place until they were gone. Then, holding on to her emotions by a thread, Becca went into the bathroom. She was about to wet her pants and figured she might as well kill two birds with one stone.
She’d already read the instructions on how to use the home pregnancy kit, so it was just a matter of getting the job done. Then she was going to lock the doors—never mind that it was ten minutes before closing time—and go upstairs to lick her wounds in private.
Or maybe she’d be celebrating.
She’d wanted a child so badly, for so long. Now, though, her emotions were all over the place. She felt like crying. Or hitting someone. Maybe a statuesque blonde with killer legs.
What did Colby see in that woman? She was cold. Boring.
“Great, Becca. You saw the woman for two minutes and now you’re judging her personality. You ought to be ashamed. And doggone it, I can’t believe I’m peeing on a pregnancy stick while the potential father of my potential baby is off having dinner with his girlfriend!”
She set the stick on the counter, wrestled her capris back up her hips, then froze when she heard the bell jingle over the front door.
Her heart leaped in gladness. Had Colby come back? Decided he’d rather eat dinner and make bread dough with her than hang out with that city girl?
She flushed the toilet, snagged the pregnancy stick and shoved it in her pants pocket with her cell phone and hurried back out to the front of the store.
It wasn’t Colby.
“Oh, hi again.” She tried to put some professional enthusiasm into her voice even though her heart was sinking like a stone. “You’re the one whose wife returns all your gifts,” she recalled. “Did you decide to take a chance on one of the bracelets, after all?”
“Not these bracelets.” He reached back and flipped the lock on the front door. When he faced her again, there was a gun in his hand.
Becca nearly choked on a breath. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Oh, no. Not again!
Although he’d taken her by surprise, she was wide awake this time. She was not going to end up at the hospital for more stitches or splints or—God forbid—a bullet wound.
“What do you want?” Although she tried to steady it, her voice trembled.
“A watch you bought at Arturo’s Pawnshop. Gold band. I think you know which one I’m talking about. It’s...shall we say, special.”
She pretended not to know what he was talking about. “Special? Are you D. J. McGee?”
His bushy gray eyebrows drew together beneath the bill of his trucker’s hat. “Yeah, I am.”
“Really?” Lying sack of bones. “I’m so sorry. You see, I’m into genealogy and tracing folks’ family tree. When I saw that watch I remembered that there was a James McGee who fought at the Alamo—”
He waved the gun at her. “Skip the chitchat. Just give me my damned watch and be done with it.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t have the watch. I sold it to someone else who said his great-grandfather was a descendant of James McGee.”
“You sold it?”
She nodded.
The man swore. “What’d he look like? The one you sold my watch to.”
Becca waved her hand at the gun as though it
were making her nervous and forgetful—which it darn well was—and inched back a few feet. “I—I don’t remember—”
“Younger than me?” he coached. “About the same height, except with brown hair and a mustache?”
“Yes,” she lied, taking another step back. Tink and Trouble were upstairs, and she hoped neither of them would come down to investigate. “I think that was him. I can look up the receipt if you like.” She whirled around, intending to get behind the counter, put something between herself and that gun...and get herself closer to the stairs or back door.
“Stay where you are,” the man shouted. “Damn it, let me think.”
“I was just going to get the receipt.”
“I don’t need it. I know who came for the damn thing. Was Macky. He worked for Arturo. I never should've told nobody about that watch. He was just waiting for me to get in a fix. I owe money, had to come up with it somehow. I figured I could win a few hands over at the club, make enough to get the loan sharks off my back and get my watch out of hock. I didn’t figure on anybody buying it.”
“I’m sorry,” Becca said, still pretending she didn’t know the watch was a cheating device. “Macky—if that’s who you think it was—paid in cash, so I didn’t have any cause to question or check his identity to know that he wasn’t actually J. D. McGee. I feel bad that I sold your family heirloom to a stranger.”
“What are you talking about?” the man said, his attention shifting around the room at the merchandise she had on the shelves.
“The inscription,” she clarified, slipping her hand in her pocket. She felt the pregnancy strip and her cell phone. She wondered if she could manage to dial anyone without taking it out of her pocket. “You said you were D. J. McGee.”
“Oh. Yeah, right.” He snatched a pair of French 19th century Louis XV marble urns off the shelf, then tucked a pair of Napoleon III gilt and bronze lamp bases under his arm.
“Since you took what was mine, I’m taking some of yours.”
“Why don’t you just find Mr. Macky and get your watch back?”
“Oh, I will. Unless you go squealing to the cops the minute I turn my back.”
“I won’t. I promise. Just go and we’ll call it even between us.”