Love Under Two Mavericks

by Cara Covington

  Lewis squatted so he could examine the bottom area. It took him a moment to understand exactly what he was seeing.

  He answered Randy’s question. “That’s one way of looking at it.” Except he didn’t necessarily think it had happened overnight. It could have. A slight breeze now stirred air that had been still when he’d left for the store. He hadn’t smelled the gas when he’d set out for Lusty—he checked his watch—twenty minutes before.

  “Did you hear anything while I was gone?” Lewis asked.

  Randy squatted beside him, his scowl testimony that he, too, understood what had happened.

  “Not a damn thing. We both kind of dozed off again. If it happened this morning, we should have heard that.”

  Lewis nodded. “I agree. I think we should call Adam.”

  He looked at his cousin. Randy nodded. “Yeah, okay. Who would do this?”

  “Not a clue, brother. But hopefully, the asshole who did was careless when he left that behind, and a check for fingerprints can answer that question for us.”

  Neither man reached for the screwdriver that lay, totally out of place but suspiciously obvious, about a foot and a half from where it had been used to cause damage.

  Lewis had thought, once he located the leak, to find something to collect the dripping fuel in. The gaping, jagged holes he could see assured him that anything that had been in the tank was now soaking into the Texas dirt beneath it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Terry hadn’t ever really excelled at math. Hell, he hadn’t excelled at anything. He didn’t know what to think when he considered his own situation. If he was a kid with a father and life situation like the one he had lived happening in today’s world? Hell, there’d be all sorts of folks lined up to help him.

  Or maybe not. What had happened when he’d been a kid, with his old man being an abusive son of a bitch and his mother a weak-willed woman, none of that was his fault. And to her credit, his mother had grown a bit of a backbone when the old man was finally out of their lives. She’d cleaned up her act and had been the best mother she’d been capable of being.

  He sat and thought about that for a good, long while. Loraine Gowan had worked hard, she’d held two jobs, and when he’d been a senior in high school, he’d taken on a job at the grocery close to their home. She didn’t demand his money, but he’d given her some anyway.

  She’d never spoken in words to him about how he should live his life, but by her actions—her own example and the firm discipline when he crossed the line—she’d taught him plenty.

  He’d gotten work with an older real estate agent and had more or less been his assistant until he’d learned enough to pass the accreditation courses. Then he’d taken over his mentor’s business, and while he would never be rich, he owned his own home, and he’d been able to make his mother’s last couple of years more comfortable as the cancer had taken her.

  All those thoughts circled in his brain as he redirected his attention to the piece of paper on his desk.

  He had an hour before it was time to head home for the night. It had been a good day—one sale had closed, and he’d submitted an offer on behalf of another client. No, his business would never make him rich. Did he even want to be rich?

  He directed his attention back down to the calculations he’d made based on the information he’d gleaned off the internet.

  It hadn’t been difficult to discover some basic historical information. There had indeed been a train robbery near Waco in 1880. A shipment of gold coins had been sent from Philadelphia to Waco. At some point between Fort Worth and Waco, the gold, valued at over two hundred thousand dollars at the time, had gone missing. No trace of the lost gold had ever been uncovered. The twenty-dollar gold coins weren’t remarkable in the day. There were no markings to distinguish these coins from any other.

  It had also not been too difficult to discover that his great-great grandfather, also named Devlin Gowan, had been in the vicinity, along with an Ezra Powell, and that both men had been arrested in Waco by the Texas Rangers, on a wanted poster from Missouri.

  Looks like the old man is telling the truth—at least as far as he knows it. Was it really possible that somewhere, on Michaela Powell’s property, a fucking fortune in gold was buried?

  Nearly fifteen million dollars. That’s what those coins would be worth, just in the value of the gold, alone. In the 1880s, gold was just over twenty dollars an ounce. Today? Hell, it was worth more than fourteen hundred dollars an ounce.

  Talk about inflation.

  Terry shoved back from his chair. He let his gaze sweep his modest office, set in a modest mall in the ever-growing city of Waco. The day was waning, and he had to think about getting home. He wanted his father gone. He wanted this entire last couple of months to be entirely re-written.

  His thoughts spun back to his mother. One of her oft said maxims filled his mind. Terry exhaled. “There are no do-overs in life. So, bind your wounds and move on.”

  Fifteen million dollars.

  It was a lot of money—more than he’d be able to spend in his lifetime. He’d never have to hustle another sale, worry about another bill, or take antacids thinking about his retirement fund, which wasn’t, by anyone’s measure, thriving. Adequate, maybe, if he worked until seventy. But not thriving. He needed to clear his head.

  “Put it in the fuck-it bucket.” His own words startled him. But the current saying was apt for this moment. He wasn’t finished thinking on the situation, but he could think wherever he was.

  His cell phone rang. Terry looked at his own landline number staring back at him. No sense in letting it go to voice mail. His father would just rip him a new one when he got home.

  “Hey, Dad. I’m just finishing for the day.”

  “I’m hungry. Can you bring home a pizza? Or how about burgers? I love them burgers you brought home last week. And fries.”

  “Yeah, I can do that.” It would be a lot easier than cooking for his fuss-ass father.

  “Good. And don’t drive like a fucking old lady. I want those fries hot.”

  Terry might have risen to the bait, but his father hung up before he had the chance. He closed his eyes and took one moment to just wish there could be a do-over, just this once.

  Then he exited his office, locked the door behind him, and headed off for burgers and fries and a rational decision about a totally irrational situation.

  * * * *

  Michaela set her tray on the bar and rattled off her drink orders to Laci Benedict. As Saturday evenings went, this was a good one. Busy, but not overly so.

  She’d been back at work for a week, and the next day—Sunday—was a day off for her. In the morning, a group of people was coming over to paint the house and make a list of some simple repairs needed for the barn. Then, for the evening, she and her guys were going to Laci, Trace, and Lucas’s house for supper. Michaela was looking forward to it. She was especially looking forward to cuddling Randy’s sweet little niece, Zoe Diane. And then on Wednesday, her next day off, another crew of friends would be arriving to begin the conversion of her dad’s old bedroom and the downstairs bathroom into a proper master suite.

  Thanks to the payment of that life insurance policy which she’d just received, she’d had the money to buy the materials they’d need. Jordan Alvarez-Kendall had already ordered everything, giving her a contractor’s discount.

  “Adam have any luck finding out who attacked your poor defenseless fuel tank last week?” Laci asked.

  It surprised her that Laci would ask that. As far as Michaela knew, Randy saw his sister-in-law every day, even if he was keeping her warm and happy every night. Maybe Randy hasn’t been keeping his family in the loop.

  “He hasn’t. There were no fingerprints on the screwdriver used as a weapon, which the tank-mutilator had apparently brought with him, and no one in the area saw anyone except Lewis driving down the road during the time in question.” Michaela shrugged. “Personally, I think it was just some dumbass kid. I th
ink that’s what Adam believes, too. Especially since we put a new lock on that barn just the afternoon before. Kid was likely pissed he couldn’t get into the barn for whatever, and attacked the tank as a way of striking back.”

  “Adam does tend to believe that any open and not well attended barn is the setting for daily teenage orgies,” Laci said.

  She had a twinkle in her eye when she said it, and Michaela snickered. “Kind of makes you wonder what his teen years were like, doesn’t it?”

  Laci laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? I hear the cleanup of the fuel dump is going well.”

  “It is. Jake insisted that the Town Trust has a huge contingency fund in case of vandalism—which this was.” Michaela shook her head. “When I pointed out that I didn’t live in Lusty, he said, ‘You’re near enough.’”

  “That would have been Grandma Kate’s doing,” Laci said. “After that crowd greeted you at the clinic when you nailed yourself, you can’t really be surprised that everyone considers you as theirs.”

  “I’m not surprised exactly. It’s just that I guess I’m not used to…such kindness.”

  “I know exactly how you feel. I came here to apply for this job and to spend time with my bestie, Chloe, but also to escape some trouble in Abilene. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t family. They made me family and then helped me through that rough patch.”

  Michaela had worked at the Roadhouse for nearly eight months, and she’d seen what the people of this town were like. She just hadn’t expected the inclusion to include her.

  “You’re coming for supper tomorrow?” Laci asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Do you want me to bring anything?”

  “Just yourself.” Laci tilted her head and kept her gaze fixed on Michaela. “Those two Benedicts behaving themselves with you? They treating you all right?”

  She didn’t answer immediately because just thinking about Lewis and Randy made her smile.

  “Wow. I think your smile reminds me of me not that all that long ago. Okay, you’ve answered my questions.”

  “But I didn’t say anything?” Michaela couldn’t not laugh, even though she felt her cheeks heating.

  “Girlfriend, I recognized that look because I saw it every day in the mirror, uh-huh I did! Still do.” Laci performed a bit of a butt wiggle as she finished drawing the beer. Then she chuckled, even as Michaela shook her head and picked up her tray.

  “They are treating me very well.” And she raised her eyebrows twice in rapid succession as she did her best to imitate a leer.

  Michaela turned away from the bar as fellow server Bailey was making her way over with an empty tray, her be-bop movements telling Michaela that her friend was enjoying listening to Garth and Blake singing about a dive bar.

  Michaela didn’t actually dance to the music the way Bailey did, but she enjoyed it, nonetheless. She kind of understood Bailey’s rhythmic approach to her job, but it wasn’t a philosophy she herself could get behind.

  There were always new faces in the summer, she’d been told, and she’d served a few of them tonight. One table held two women named Tammy and Kimmi, and they seemed to be having a great time. The sound of their laughter put a smile on Michaela’s face. Tammy was visiting from Mississippi, and apparently the two women had become fast friends over the love of books.

  A newly engaged couple from Waco had spent the evening sipping on coolers and staring raptly into each other’s eyes. Peggy and Gregory were both students and planning a December wedding. There were some regulars in her rounds, too. Most were from Gatesville or the farms and homes stretched out on the state highway from there to here. Some were here on Saturday night date night and some for a late supper after an early movie.

  Motion near the stage told her the band for the night had arrived and were beginning to set up. They’d start their first set around nine-thirty and play until midnight—later, if the house was rockin’.

  Michaela finally arrived at Benedict Central and delivered a couple of beers to Warren and Edward Jessop. She set a Coke down for Carol, their wife, who appeared very happy to be tucked in between her men.

  Michaela took one look at Carol’s grin, and the Coke she was drinking instead of her usual Chablis, and her eyes widened.

  Carol put a finger up to her lips, a pantomime of “shh”.

  In return, Michaela gave her a discreet “thumbs up”. If she had to guess, she’d say that the happy triad hadn’t yet told their parents—Anna, Craig and Jackson Jessop—that there was going to be at least one more soul added to the family.

  “Where are Lewis and Randy tonight?” Sean Kendall asked. He, his brother, Noah, and their wife, Brittany, had come in a few minutes before. They’d ordered beer and supper. The food would be ready shortly.

  “The guys should be here soon. They accompanied Jesse and Barry to Houston this morning.”

  “Jesse and Barry were going to look over a few head of cattle, weren’t they?” Warren asked. “For their combined operation?”

  “Yep. I don’t have any details, and don’t know a thing about the process, but Randy texted it had been a good trip.”

  “When our little brothers decided to become ranchers, we had our doubts.” Rick Benedict and Maggie were enjoying an evening out, just the two of them. Last week, on her first day back to work, Maggie had been with Kevin for the same thing. Until she herself took on a pair of lovers named Benedict, Michaela hadn’t truly paid attention to the dynamics of the ménage relationships. But she was paying attention now, and she could say one thing for certain. Other than being based on mutual respect and love, there was no one true way to structure such a relationship.

  “You all did,” Maggie reminded him. “The only one in the family who thought they could make a go of it was Steven. And Grandma Kate, of course.”

  “That’s right. But look at them now. They’ve more than paid back their initial investment in the business, and they’re all happy in that conglomerate they’ve formed.” Rick looked at Michaela. “I’ve learned that lesson. Never question the power of a person’s dream.”

  “Wise words, Rick.”

  Michaela grinned and turned because that had been Lewis’s voice. She met his gaze and tilted her head. He wore a smile, but she knew it was mostly for show. I’ve really come to know him and Randy in the last month.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just a petty annoyance, baby girl. We got to the house about twenty minutes ago. The electricity was out. So we got in touch with Jake, because we didn’t know who to contact to get it restored. He’s sending over a team, and Randy’s stayed behind to be there while they get it fixed up.”

  “There’s more, cowboy.” She stretched up and put a quick kiss on his lips. “Tell me all of it, please.”

  “All right. Adam’s there, too. Michaela, the wires from the road to the house had been severed.”

  “Severed?”

  “Yep. As in deliberately cut. Someone wanted you to be in the dark.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time he’d returned to the house with Michaela, the electric company crew had come and gone. The house was lit up and so, too, was the outside yard.

  Jake Kendall had arrived with a couple of the portable floodlights kept on hand by the town, so the area that Adam referred to as the crime scene was well illuminated. They’d spent quite a bit of time outside. The repair crew from the electric company had given Adam the pieces of the line that showed the break. He and his brother had just come inside. Their search hadn’t turned up any kind of evidence on the ground.

  Adam held up a piece of wire. “Look at this. No fraying—sometimes the lines don’t weather well, and a strong gust of wind will finally bring them down. But the end of this wire looks smooth, with just a bit of melting here—as if from friction. With no sign of any kind of lift truck or ladder in the vicinity of the pole, the only thing I can think of is it’s been shot through. Not too many marksmen in the area but it’s a clue.”

  “We have no w
ay of knowing when the electricity went off,” Randy said. “Everything with a clock component was flashing zeroes when the power came back on.”

  Michaela had made coffee and was sitting between him and his cousin, silent, as the Kendalls took in some caffeine.

  “So this would have happened sometime after you went to work,” Adam said to Michaela.

  “I left here about two this afternoon,” Michaela said. “And everything was working fine.”

  “I’m not buying that pissed-off teens would have done this,” Lewis said.

  “I’m not, either,” Adam agreed. “What gets me is, this is petty stuff—first the fuel tank and now this. Either of you two guys piss someone off lately?”

  “No,” Lewis answered. He met Adam’s gaze and understood that question had been asked for form’s sake or even possibly to redirect Michaela’s attention.

  The more he thought about it, the more Lewis believed that it was the latter and not the former. If Adam had believed that kids had poked those holes in the fuel tank, he didn’t believe it any longer.

  Michaela waved her hand. “This has nothing to do with the guys. If it did, whoever did this would have gone after their truck, or them. These two incidents happened on my property, affecting me. The thing is, I have no idea why. As far as I know, I haven’t made any enemies since I’ve been home—nor had I made any before I left.”

  “Well, sweetheart, you might have ticked off one person recently,” Randy said.

  “You have,” Lewis said. “What I can’t wrap my head around is how that asshole would think these two petty attacks would scare you off—or make you want to sell your home.”

  Adam sat forward. “Who are we talking about, here?”

  Jake cocked his head to the side. “Terry Gowan?”

  “Yes. From what we saw the other day, the man doesn’t seem too interested in taking ‘no’ for an answer.” Lewis said.