Читать книгу Lone Star Redemption - Colleen Thompson - Страница 12

Chapter 2

Zach was gratified to see the little cameraman scuttling out the door without a moment’s hesitation.

But the slim, green-eyed woman didn’t move a muscle as she stared him down. “For the record,” she challenged, the wind from the open door whipping her long, red-gold hair around her, “you’re threatening to shoot us?”

Though he’d like nothing more than to answer, Hell, yes, he hesitated for a heartbeat, remembering reporters and their underhanded ways. Innocent as this Jessica Layton appeared, with her tangled waves and a smattering of girl-next-door freckles, there was a stubborn set to her delicate jaw that promised trouble if he wasn’t careful. For all he knew, she had a digital recorder hidden on her and would take his bluff to the law if he were stupid enough to threaten her. Not that Sheriff Canter would likely do anything but escort this troublemaking outsider to the county line, but Zach didn’t need the aggravation.

And he didn’t need her raising more questions about his mother’s strange behavior. Why hadn’t she simply told the reporter what little she knew about Layton’s sister and her boyfriend instead of acting as if there was something to hide? And why had she lied to him about the reporter and her cameraman being lost in the storm and looking for directions?

“I’m not going to shoot you,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “But I promise you, I’ll pick you up like a bawling calf and carry you straight back to your car if you don’t leave.”

To her credit—and his irritation—Jessica Layton didn’t bat an eye at the threat.

“So you’re sending me back out into this storm?” she asked.

“And straight down the road to Dallas, if I have anything to say about it,” he said, thinking of the tears he’d spotted in his mother’s eyes. He wouldn’t have her getting sick again, an illness that had alarmed him into accepting the discharge he’d been offered, as his family’s sole surviving son, and into finally accepting his father’s unwelcome legacy.

The reporter waited without speaking, clearly hoping to make him squirm. But as an officer of the marine corps, he was familiar with the tactic. Had used it himself upon occasion, while staring down the younger pilots he’d trained.

He waited her out, thinking how pretty he might’ve found this clearly smart and stubborn woman if she weren’t some damned reporter, especially one who’d invaded his turf and upset his mother. Did this Jessica Layton have any idea that the woman she’d come here to grill had lost her son—his only brother, Ian—in combat a few months ago? Or that she’d still been reeling from her husband’s death at the time, which had left her responsible for running an enormous spread with no one but hired hands to help her?

“I’ll leave your property,” the reporter finally conceded, “but I’m warning you. I’m not making the drive home until I find my sister—or at least get some straight answers about where she might’ve gone. Because my mother isn’t dying without seeing her again.”

“You—Your mother?” he asked. “She’s—she’s what? You’re saying that she’s sick?”

Her jaw tightening, Jessica Layton nodded. Pain cracked through the mask of fierceness, the pain of a despair barely held at bay. A reminder that death hadn’t made its last stop at Zach’s family’s doorstep.

“I’m sorry for your family,” he said, really seeing the woman behind the reporter for the first time. A gorgeous woman, not just pretty, and one that his instincts assured him wasn’t lying in the hope of getting either an edge or a story. “But you just heard my mother. She has no idea where your sister’s gone.”

“You heard her as well as I did. It’s obvious your mother’s hiding something.” Jessica stared in challenge at his mother on the staircase.

A challenge he cut off by stepping between them, his heart pounding out a warning that this reporter, this intruder in his home, was too dangerous to sympathize with. “You crossed a line today, barging in here with a camera, and you’re crossing another, standing here and calling my mother a liar.” He squared his shoulders and drew himself to his full height. “Now get out before I put you out.”

“I’ll be back,” she assured him, turning on her heel.

And leaving him to wonder, could his mother’s strange behavior have anything to do with another woman who had shown up unexpectedly to knock at their front door?

Reminded of the miracle she’d brought, Zach glanced up toward the landing and glimpsed a tendril of soft golden-brown hair and a pair of eyes peeking through the bars of the metalwork railing.

The green eyes of his four-year-old niece, Eden, who had been dropped off by her mother—an old girlfriend of Ian’s who none of them had ever heard of—in the weeks following his brother’s death. Still in San Diego, packing up the contents of his room in the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters, Zach had never met the woman, but Jessica Layton’s green eyes nudged a suspicion...a suspicion planted by his mother’s too-neat story to the night her “miracle grandchild” had appeared.

The moment the reporter closed the door behind her, the tiny girl—the child Zach swore had restored his mother’s will to live—trotted down the staircase and threw herself into his mother’s arms.

And in a small, sweet voice that drove a shaft of ice through his heart, Eden asked tearfully, “Grandma, is my mama coming back this time? Is she taking me away?”

* * *

“Thanks loads for the backup in there,” Jessie told Henry once she’d climbed behind the wheel.

His bald scalp reddened. “Did you see the size of that guy? And the muscles? Besides, I’ve got at least thirty years on him, or else I would’ve— I could’ve decked him....”

When Jessie raised her brows, Henry laughed at her skepticism.

“You know me all too well,” he conceded with a shrug. “Maybe I wouldn’t have at that, but I could tell that cowboy wouldn’t hit a woman, much less shoot one. You saw how he was with his little mama.”

“I figured the same,” she admitted as she started the car’s engine. “But he wasn’t going to back down from protecting her, either.”

“Protecting? You still think she’s hiding Haley?”

Jessie turned the car around and started back for the gate. “Not anymore I don’t, but she’s holding back. Or outright lying for some reason. I’d bet money on it.”

“I sure as heck noticed how she lied to him about who we were and then popped off your sister’s boyfriend’s name when her son looked at her funny. And right in front of you, too, after acting like she couldn’t remember.”

Frowning, Jessie shook her head. “She was so flustered by that point, I’m guessing she couldn’t keep it together any longer. But at least I have the boyfriend’s name now, so we can check him out.”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and glanced down at its face. “Not out here, you can’t. Not online, anyway. There’s no service, and—big surprise—no Wi-Fi signal, either.”

“How do people live like this?” Hours from the nearest Starbucks, she was going into withdrawal, and being cut off from the phone, email and internet was even harder.

As if on cue, a trio of cows—or bulls, or whatever the heck they were—wandered into their path. Apparently unfazed by the wind, the big red-and-white animals stopped to chew and stare at them.

“Come on, you three. Out of the way.” She tapped the horn, and one mooed. Another turned around and mooned her, before lifting its tail to...

“Not on my hood, you don’t!” she said, shifting into Reverse and backing the car a safe distance. Though she’d covered far more than her share of crime scenes, accidents and fatality fires on the night beat, she crinkled her nose and oohed at the disgusting display.

Henry grinned and said, “I’m guessing Bossy there doesn’t like us any better than that cowboy does.”

Jessie snorted, then tried to decide if her Prius could make it if she drove off the graded driveway and carefully skirted the cattle. The ground to either side was lumpy with rocks, and the tough grasses and thorny shrubs could easily hide holes where they might get stuck.

Fortunately, the cattle moved on, swishing their tails smugly.

“I am so having a nice, juicy steak tonight, if I can find one...” she grumbled.

The caterpillar mustache twitched. “I’m sure our host will be glad to hear that. Good for the cattle business, after all.”

“Oh, right,” she said, wishing she could declare for vegetarianism, instead. But she’d been raised on good Texas beef, and she’d miss it like crazy if she had to give it up. “Well, all that aside, I think I saw a diner back in Rusted Spur. And I’m betting there’s a signal there, too, so I can hop on the web.”

“Glad to hear it ’cause right about now, I could eat that cow whole.” Henry slanted her a look, reminding her she’d been in such a big hurry to reach the ranch, they’d had nothing since first thing that morning. Not that there had been a lot of restaurants to choose from once they’d left the state highway. “You’re sure the place’ll be open?”

“Judging from the number of pickups parked out front earlier, I figure it’s the local hangout. Thank goodness it wasn’t boarded up like most of the other businesses in town.”

“Town seems like a stretch,” said Henry, who was a city boy himself, born and raised in Chicago.

Jessie had to agree with his assessment. When they’d driven through Rusted Spur forty minutes before finding the ranch, the winds had just begun to blow, making the depressing collection of weathered, mostly wood-frame buildings, older vehicles and a single, flashing red light look positively bleak. She hoped that she was wrong, that some unexplored cross-street would reveal a thriving downtown with actual human beings she could talk to. Because even if her sister had been a stranger here, Haley’s boyfriend wasn’t, which made it likely he had friends or family members who would know where he had gone.

“It’s late for lunch and early for dinner, but let’s head that way, anyhow,” she suggested. “With a little luck, we’ll find some chatty local who’ll tell us about Frankie McFarland.”

“Could be they won’t like outsiders,” Henry warned. “Especially not outsiders asking questions about a local boy.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she said. “I’ll bet you a nice, crisp twenty there’s somebody eager to rat out old Frankie. Either because he’s a jerk—my sister’s boyfriends always are—or for the chance to be on TV.”

“Not for some Dallas station they don’t even get here.”

Henry’s cynicism reminded her of the other type of people news crews frequently encountered: those who called them vultures—or worse—and slammed doors in their faces. Thinking of Zach Rayford’s contempt, she decided to forget about the camera and the microphone and simply play up the worried-sister angle. Her reunion with her twin later would make for more compelling viewing, anyway.

By the time they rolled into town, the storm had completely blown itself out, leaving behind a faint orange haze and chilly temperatures for late October.

Before heading toward the diner, they took the time to drive around town and found a few more going concerns, including a feed cooperative, a small post office located inside a rundown grocery store and a combination car repair shop and gas station. A lone pickup crossed the intersection ahead of them and a couple of lean brown dogs trotted along a buckled sidewalk.

“I’m starting to wonder if that storm blew us back in time,” said Henry as he peered at a long-since-closed theater. “This place looks like something from another century.”

“Another planet,” Jessie agreed, thinking of the tangled freeways and shining skyscrapers of downtown Dallas.

They easily found parking in front of a place called Tumbleweeds, which sported a peeling, hand-lettered sign proclaiming it the HOME OF THE PANHANDLE’S BIGGEST CHICKEN-FRIED STEAK!

“I notice they didn’t bother to claim ‘best,’” she said, making a mental note to order something healthier than the breaded, fried and gravy-laden dish.

After hiding the mini-cam in the rear hatch, they went in to scope the place out. At only a few minutes past four, the small, wood-frame structure was deserted save for a plump, dark-haired teenager cleaning tables and an older man Jessie assumed to be the cook, judging from his hairnet and apron, dozing as he leaned against the counter.

The waitress put down the rag she’d been using and smiled at them with crooked little teeth. “Welcome to Tumbleweeds. Are y’all here for dinner?”

“Sure thing,” Jessie said, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the girl—Mandy, according to the name tag on her apron—didn’t seem to recognize her, which probably meant she didn’t know Haley. But that didn’t mean the teen couldn’t be of help.

An hour later, they came out, full of saturated fats, since there hadn’t been so much as a single veggie on the menu that wasn’t deep-fried or infused with bacon drippings, but little wiser than they had been.

Although Mandy had seemed sympathetic when Jessie told her about her search, it was clear that she knew nothing about Haley. She had, however, told them that Frankie McFarland’s brother, Danny, worked at the nearby feed store. Searches on both names with her cell phone, which was working decently if slowly, didn’t turn up anything of use. Apparently, the McFarland brothers didn’t stay connected with their friends on social networks, either.

Jessie and Henry had nearly reached the car when the girl from the diner came trotting out after them, her dark braid bouncing behind her and her round face pink with exertion. As soon as she caught her breath, she warned, “I didn’t want to say it in there with Crabby Leonard listening, but Danny’s nickname around town is Hellfire. On account of his temper.”

“You mean he’s violent?” Henry rushed to ask.

“He’s been tryin’ to pass himself off as respectable since he bought out the local watering hole, but everybody knows he’n Frankie have always been quick to take offense and even quicker with their fists. I’ve heard Sheriff Canter joke about naming one of his jail cells the McFarland Suite.”

Jessie’s stomach twisted with sudden apprehension as for the first time it occurred to her that her sister might not be deliberately hiding from her family, but in trouble. The kind of trouble that came with being involved with a violently abusive man.

An approaching rumble cut like a chainsaw through the small-town quiet. Swiveling her head, Mandy gasped and whispered, “Oh, gosh. Here he comes now. That’s Hellfire.”

As a big chopper-style motorcycle came into view, the waitress glanced from Henry to Jessie and begged, “Please don’t tell him I said anything about his temper. Or that stupid joke the sheriff made, okay?”

“It’s already forgotten,” Jessie promised.

But she was talking to thin air, for Mandy was already hurrying back inside as Danny McFarland roared up, his ragged, reddish beard and hair wild in the wind beneath the level of the skull-and-crossbones bandanna he was wearing. A big man with a bigger belly, he hid a portion of his bulk beneath an oversize black leather jacket. As he dismounted, she saw the name Prairie Rose Saloon had been emblazoned across the back. Beneath those words, a rattlesnake, all coiled menace, gaped among yellow roses with wicked, blood-tipped thorns.

As biker art went, it was impressive. But Jessie had neither the inclination nor the time to appreciate the view as Hellfire turned around to look her over. Though his eyes were hidden behind wraparound reflective glasses, Jessie’s skin crawled at the contempt that seemed to roll off him in waves.

“Careful with this guy,” Henry warned, shrinking back as she stepped forward.

Though Jessie had interviewed motorcycle “thugs” who’d turned out to have hearts of gold underneath their rough exteriors, her instincts screamed at her to retreat to safety. But McFarland was the only lead she had to follow, so she held her ground, even when he removed the glasses to reveal a pair of teardrops tattooed beneath his right eye. Teardrops that often signified a stint in prison—or worse.

In a moment, the mask shifted, morphing from simple toughness into fury before he burst out with, “You stupid bitch. You think anyone’s gonna be fooled by a freakin’ haircut and some fancy clothes? What’d I tell you about—”

“Haley is my sister,” Jessie said, jolted by the knowledge that he’d mistaken her for her twin. That he clearly knew—and hated—her. “She’s also your brother’s girlfriend, from what I hear. Can you tell me where they went?”

“Your sister? What the hell’re you trying to pull, girl?” He stopped abruptly to scowl at her, grooves furrowing his weathered face before blinking in surprise. “Wait a minute. You ain’t kidding, are you?”

“Our mother’s— Our mom’s dying,” Jessie admitted. “She only wants to see my sister one more time.”

“Well, I can tell you, Rusted Spur’s the last place you’re gonna find that girl, or my brother, either. Now you get on down the road, too—if you want to stay alive.”

Jessie’s jaw tightened. Does everyone in this one-horse town intend to threaten me? Nevertheless, she stood her ground, insisting, “I can’t go anywhere without Haley.”

McFarland looked from her to Henry and back again, his lip curling to reveal tobacco-stained teeth. “Maybe then you won’t be leaving. Alive, anyway.”

Jessie didn’t give an inch, demanding, “Where is she, Hellfire? Where’d your brother take her?”

As the biker’s gaze turned dangerous, Henry grabbed at her arm. “Let’s get out of here, Jessie. I’ll drive this time if you want.”

Jerking her arm free, she didn’t budge and didn’t take her eyes off McFarland for a second.

Without further warning, he surged toward her, faster than she would have imagined such a big man capable of moving. With a cry of alarm, she backpedaled, choking with fear and nausea as her hands came up to ward off his attack.