Читать книгу The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas - Linda Warren, Linda Warren - Страница 11

Wyatt wasn’t sure what to do with Ms. Ross. She’d made her phone call, so why wasn’t someone calling to arrange her bail? His plans were to release her if she promised to return on Wednesday for the hearing. But so far he’d heard nothing from her family.

And it was getting late. He had to call Jody.

Before he could punch out the number, his daughter bounded in with Dolittle, her yellow Lab, trotting behind her. She was dressed in her customary jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, her short blond hair clinging to her head like a frilly cap. She looked so much like Lori that it squeezed another drop of sadness from his heart. Her eyes were like his, though, dark brown with flecks of green.

“Hey, Daddy, what’s taking so long?” She rested her elbows on his desk and cupped her face, those big eyes sparkling like the rarest of gems. He’d never thought it possible to love someone so much, so deeply, but he did—the same way he had loved her mother. There was nothing on this earth he wouldn’t do for his daughter. He’d give his life for her in a heartbeat. She was everything to him and would be until the day he died.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have a situation here at the jail.” Glancing outside, he saw her bicycle. “Does Grandma know where you are?” Usually his mother called when Jody was on her way to his office.

Jody shrugged. “Grandma doesn’t know where I’m at half the time.”

“Really?” He leaned back in his chair.

“Shoot.” Jody snapped her fingers. “Ramrod says I’m the sharpest knife in the drawer and sometimes I cut my own self.”

Everyone in town knew Jody and she wasn’t in any danger. But it was against the rules for Jody to leave the house without permission. His daughter spent too much time at the local barbershop owned by Virgil and Ramrod Crebbs. They were old cowboys who had grown tired of the long hours in the saddle and had moved to town. They opened the one and only barbershop. Jody loved to hear their tales and she’d picked up their lingo.

Disciplining his daughter was hard. She had him wrapped so tight around her little finger that he let her get away with just about everything. He had to be stronger where Jody was concerned.

How many times had he told himself that? Just last week he had been called to the school because Jody had punched a boy in her class. The boy had told her she was a pretty girl. Apparently, those were fighting words. Jody was a tomboy and refused to admit she was a girl. Although the two of them has talked about this often Jody stuck to her stance that she was just Jody, not a girl.

He sucked in the fatherhood department.

Jody was a loner and that bothered him. She didn’t have friends her own age—all her friends were adults. He had to address that problem soon, too.

Dolittle came around the desk and nuzzled Wyatt’s leg. Wyatt scratched the dog’s head. “So you left the house without telling Grandma?”

“Well, Daddy, it was like this.” Her brown eyes grew serious and he just wanted to kiss her sweet, pixie face. “Grandma was having her Sunday poker game and she was telling Gladys that she needed to get her cataracts removed because she couldn’t see squat. You know how Gladys hates it when Grandma tells her what to do. They were having a loud argument about mind-your-own business types of things when I shouted that I was going to see what was keeping you so long.”

“I see.” Wyatt realized he had no control over any of the women in his life. His mother played the organ in church on Sunday mornings and then played poker with her friends in the afternoon.

Gambling was illegal in Texas, so he’d told them they couldn’t play for money. But the winner bowled free on Tuesdays and also got a free lunch; the others paid, at least that was what his mother told him. Half the time he didn’t know what the ladies were up to, and most of the time he’d rather not know. He’d prefer not to have to lock up his own mother.

Trying to look as stern as possible, he pointed a finger at Jody. “Next time, make sure Grandma hears you.”

At the firmness of Wyatt’s voice, Dolittle became rigid, on guard. They’d had him since he was a pup, and they realized early that the dog was lazy and did very little, hence the name. But he was protective of Jody and he’d fight a lion for her.

Wyatt rubbed the dog’s head, letting him know that no one was hurting Jody.

“Sure. No problem,” Jody replied. “Are you ready to go now? Virgil says the catfish are biting today. He says he caught one this big.” She stretched out her arms as far as she could.

“Virgil tells a lot of fish stories.”

“Uh-uh, Daddy.” Jody shook her head vigorously. “Virgil doesn’t lie.”

Stuart came out of the back room with an armload of blankets. Jody ran to him. “Whatcha doing, Stuart? It’s too hot for blankets.”

Stuart leaned down and whispered, “We have a female prisoner and I’m fixing her some privacy.”

“Oh.” Before Wyatt could stop her, Jody darted down the hall to the jail. He was instantly on his feet. But Dolittle was in the way and he almost tripped over him.

Jody stared though the bars at Ms. Ross. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Stop gawking, little girl,” the woman said. “This isn’t a sideshow.”

Jody’s face puckered into a frown. “I’m not a girl. I’m Jody.”

“You look like a girl to me.”

“You’re a girl,” Jody said.

“Well, Jody-with-a-gender-issue, go away and leave me the hell alone.”

Jody put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, you said a bad word.”

“Like I care. Go away, brat.”

Jody placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not nice and I hope my daddy lets you rot in here.”

“Do you not understand the meaning of ‘go away’?”

Jody stuck out her tongue. Wyatt pulled her away and led her back into the office. “You know you’re not supposed to speak to the prisoners.”

“What did she do, Daddy?” Jody pulled free of his hold and looked up into his face.

Wyatt didn’t plan on answering that question. Jody didn’t need to know. He glanced at the clock. Almost four. Time to get in a little fishing.

“Stuart, my daughter and I are going fishing.”

“Yay!” Jody jumped up and down.

“If anyone calls about Ms. Ross, call me on my cell and I’ll come back and sort it out.”

“You gonna leave me here with her?” Stuart’s left eye twitched, which always happened when he was nervous.

Wyatt reached for his hat. “Is that a problem?”

“No…well…” Stuart held his hand over his mouth so Jody couldn’t hear. “What if she attacks me when I hang the blankets? I don’t want to hit a woman.”

Wyatt glanced at his watch. “Lamar’s shift starts at five so wait until then. Surely the two of you can handle one woman.”

Stuart nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

Wyatt pointed to the bail book. “Leroy’s and Leonard’s wives are coming in with bail money, so let them go then.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Stuart winked at Jody. “Catch a big one, little bit.” Everyone in town called Jody that.

Wyatt shook his head as he walked out the door. One feisty blonde had his office turned upside down.

Hopefully her powerful mother would show up soon with a lawyer and Ms. Ross would be out of his hair.

For good.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in years, Wyatt wasn’t enjoying the fishing. He kept wondering what was going on at the office. And he wondered about Peyton Ross. Why was she so defiant and angry? She seemed to have class and beauty, but on the inside she was like rebellious teenager determined to prove something. He wondered what.

At dusk he drove Jody home and went to check on things at the jail. Jody wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let her. She spent too much time there, too. Soon he’d have to set rules for his child—and enforce them—or she was going to be the wildest kid in Horseshoe.

Lamar was at the desk when he went in. He immediately jumped to his feet. In his early twenties, Lamar was somewhat overeager. He always tried to please and at times it could be a little tiring. But Lamar was dedicated to his job, and Wyatt trusted him completely.

“How’s it going?” Wyatt asked, sinking into his chair.

“Okay, I guess. Leroy and Leonard are gone. Zeke is a pain as usual, demanding to be released.”

“And Ms. Ross?”

Lamar scratched his head. “She refused supper. Said she doesn’t eat garbage. She had a few choice words to say about you, too. That woman has a bad attitude, but she’s real easy on the eyes.”

Wyatt ignored that. “Has anyone called about her?”

“Not a soul.”

Damn. Where was this powerful mother? He got up and made his way to her cell. Blankets were hung haphazardly from the bars, but none over the door. He could see inside. She sat on the bottom bunk in pink capris, a sparkly tank top and sandals. She’d changed her clothes, but the expression on her face was the same—rebellious.

“Would you like to try your mother again? We haven’t heard from anyone.” He was as cordial as he knew how to be, just as his parents had taught him.

“Don’t worry, you will,” she replied with a lift of a finely arched brow. “And you can kiss that shiny badge on your chest goodbye. My mother will have you for breakfast.”

He rubbed his jaw, feeling a five-o’clock shadow. Again he wondered what had happened to make her so bitter. “Have you ever heard that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”

“Sorry, I’m not up on your little country sayings, but you might try catching some of these roaches in here. I’m sure locking me up in such a dump is breaking several laws, not to mention some health violations.”

His cordial attitude went south. Wyatt tipped his hat. “Good night, Ms. Ross.”

“Go to hell,” she shot back.

THE NIGHT WORE ON and Peyton kept glancing at her watch. Quinn will come. Quinn will come. By ten o’clock she knew he wasn’t coming. A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly slapped it away. She wouldn’t cry. That Mayberry sheriff would not make her cry.

The tiny lightbulb cast depressing shadows in the cell. This couldn’t be happening to her. She’d planned to drink and party with her sorority sisters until she could no longer see her beautiful mother with that man. Oh, how could she marry Garland Wingate!

He was so different from her scholarly, gentle father. Garland owned an oil company and wore cowboy boots. So uncouth. Much like the sheriff of this one-horse town.

What was she going to do? Quinn would probably let her stew overnight and be here in the morning. But what if he didn’t? He was angry with her and had a right to be. She needed to talk to her mother and apologize. Then this terrible nightmare would end.

She still had her phone. The sheriff had forgotten to retrieve it. Ignoring her brother’s warning, she punched in her mother’s number. It rang once and went to voice mail. Of course. Her mother was on her honeymoon.

Anger flashed through Peyton and she fought it. There was nothing she could do now. Her mother had married Garland. She started to leave a message, but what would she say? How could she excuse her behavior? She couldn’t even explain it to herself.

Good manners. Good behavior. She’d left those behind the moment she’d decided to run.

Slowly she placed the phone on the cot and glanced around at her dismal surroundings. Ohmygod! She was in jail—locked up. It suddenly hit her like a slap in the face and it stung. She had to find a way out of here. She wasn’t a criminal.

“Hey, fancy lady, ya sleep?” the man named Zeke called.

“Leave me alone,” she said.

“Ya got a fella?”

Could she be in any more of a backwater? “Shut up.”

“I got a place on the river, even got runnin’ water.”

Was this idiot for real?

“I wanna marry up and I’d be good to ya, might even put in a bathroom for ya. Whaddaya say, fancy lady?”

“The only thing I want is to get out of this jail.”

“I git ya outta here.”

That caught her attention. “How?” She immediately wanted to snatch the word back. Had she completely lost her mind?

“I got ways.”

“Just leave me alone, okay?” The last thing she wanted was to get involved with this crazy person. She felt something touch her ankle and she jumped, tucking her feet beneath her on the cot. It was probably a roach. Her skin crawled with revulsion. How was she going to survive this night?

“Hey, Lamar,” Zeke shouted. “I feel sick.”

“Go to sleep, Zeke,” The deputy shouted back.

“I’m gonna throw up. The food must a been bad.”

“You’re trying my patience tonight.”

Loud thuds echoed on the concrete. The deputy was coming to the cell.

She got to her feet and peered out to see what was going on. She had a feeling the man wasn’t sick. What was he up to?

“I got a fever, too. Feel me.”

The deputy stuck in his hand to touch Zeke’s forehead. As he did, Zeke’s thick arm snapped out and grabbed the deputy around the neck, yanking him up against the bars. The deputy jerked, coughed, sputtered and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Ohmigod! What did the man do? Peyton wondered if Lamar was alive. He was so still. She swallowed back a scream.

Zeke crouched down and through the bars reached for the keys on the deputy’s belt. A sly smile crossed his bearded face as he withdrew them. Then he reached for the gun and stuffed it into the waistband of his worn, dirty jeans. Quickly he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.

He stepped over the deputy’s body and, to her horror, unlocked her door. No! No! She took a couple of steps backward and looked for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but her high heels. As he advanced on her, a glint in his bloodshot eyes, she bent down to pick one up.

Before she could reach it, he grabbed her around the neck and jerked her up against his body. “I told ya, fancy lady, I git ya outta here.”

Her scream wedged in her throat and she couldn’t breathe. The man had a foul body odor and he smacked his lips in glee. His shaggy, grayish beard brushed against her cheek like a Brillo pad, and chills skipped across her skin.

He dragged her toward the door and she realized he was taking her with him. She kicked back with her feet and connected with his shins, but it didn’t even faze him.

“Let me go, you beast!”

“Ya want outta here, so I’m taking ya to my place. Ya belong to me now.”

“What?” Her body grew weak with fright. She wanted out of here, but not like this.

“The sheriff won’t find us, might not even look. He’ll be glad to see the back of ya, fancy lady.”

Her breath came in shallow gasps as he lugged her struggling body to a back door.

Where’s the sheriff? went repeatedly through her mind like a prayer before a disaster. He was her only hope. Just moments ago she never wanted to set eyes on the man again, but now he was the only person she wanted to see.

And she didn’t even know his name.

The door came open easily and Zeke hauled her outside into the sultry summer night. The scent of crepe myrtles wafted on the soft breeze, the delicate fragrance pleasant and embracing, a sharp contrast to the terror that gripped her. She blinked at the bright floodlight that illuminated a parking area. To the left, her car and a rusty old truck were enclosed inside an eight-foot-high chain-link fence.

Zeke dragged her toward the double gates. She tried everything she could to slow him down. She dug in her heels and then bit his arm, but to no avail. His heavy arm around her neck was strong and suffocating.

When they reached the gates, he yanked out the gun and fired at the chain. Her pounding heart jammed against her ribs at the sound and her ears rang. She held on to her composure, though. Barely. Hysterical screams were right there at the edge of her throat. Someone would hear the shot and come, right?

She held on to that thought.

Zeke kicked open the gate and jogged toward the truck, still tugging her along. She realized this was her last chance and she gave full rein to the screams.

He clamped a filthy hand over her mouth while opening a door and lifted her onto the seat as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.

“Let me go, you maniac!”

“Stop it.” He pointed the gun at her. “Or I’ll shoot ya.”

Her throat closed up.

“Git over,” he growled.

In a moment of clarity she realized this really was her last chance. She quickly scooted over torn upholstery to the passenger’s side, intending to open the door and run like hell. The truck was strewn with trash and stank of rotted food and urine. Paper cups, newspapers, dirty clothes littered the floor and the seat.

She held her breath against the stench as she searched for the door handle. There wasn’t one—just a hole where one used to be. No! No! Frantic, she ran her hand over the inside of the door one more time. Nothing.

“Gimme yer hands.”

She twisted around and saw he was in the truck and the door was closed. In his big hands was a small rope. She froze.

“Gimme yer hands,” he said again.

“No.” She backed against the door.

Before she could do anything else, he grabbed her hands and whipped the rope around them with lightning speed. With one movement he jerked the rope so tight it cut into her skin. She had to force herself to take deep breaths.

Fear held her paralyzed as Zeke fiddled with some wires beneath the dash. After a second the truck sputtered to life.

Zeke let out a chilling victory laugh and slammed the stick shift into gear. The truck was backed into a parking spot, so when he hit the gas pedal, they shot through the gate and out into the night.

Panic rose in her anew. She had no idea where he planned to take her. The sheriff would come, she kept telling herself.

She’d told herself that earlier, she realized with annoying insight. She’d thought Quinn would come. And he hadn’t.

All her life her father had made sure she never wanted for anything. All she had to do was be his little princess, the light of his life. He took care of all her problems, all her worries. She was loved, pampered, safe and secure.

But now…

For once in her life she was on her own.

WYATT COULDN’T sleep. He didn’t feel right leaving Ms. Ross in the jail. Zeke was as obnoxious as a man could get and he’d likely taunt Ms. Ross all night long. Where was Ms. Ross’s important mother?

He always trusted his gut instincts and something told him he was needed at the jail. Maybe it was his conscience. He slipped into jeans, boots and grabbed a short-sleeve shirt. Checking the jail one more time would give him some peace of mind and then maybe he could sleep.

His mother, Maezel, known to everyone as Mae, was in the living room, watching an old Elvis movie. She was a fanatic about the man—there was Elvis memorabilia all over the house. Wyatt complained about it so much that she now kept most of it in her room. His mother was eccentric, to say the least. His childhood had been colorful and he knew every song Elvis had ever sung. Wyatt refused to talk about his middle name.

“Mom, what are you doing still up?”

She rose to a sitting position. At sixty-eight, his mother was still in good health, though prone to bouts of depression, when she went silent. Those silent spells got him, so he’d turn up the Elvis music and soon she was back to her old self.

Pushing permed, short gray curls from her forehead, she replied, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I have to go back to the jail.”

With her eyes on the TV, she said, “Jody says you have an uppity city lady locked up.”

“Yeah. I have to check on her.”

“Go. Go.” She waved him away. “I don’t want to miss this scene with Ann-Margret.”

She’d seen the movie a hundred times at least, but that was his mother—living in Elvis Presley’s time zone.

“If Jody wakes up, tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“She never wakes up,” Mae said, her eyes glued to the screen. “Viva Las Vegas.”

He placed his hat on his head with a wry grin and headed for the back door.

His father, John Wyatt Carson, had died ten years ago of lung cancer; he’d smoked two packs a day until a month before his passing. He was set in his ways, but he’d been a loving, caring father—although sometimes, especially when Wyatt was a teenager, a little stricter than Wyatt would have liked, His father had been a highway patrolman and believed in rules and discipline, as Wyatt did now. But somehow Wyatt wasn’t very good at disciplining his own child.

His mother was very little help in that area. Mae Carson was an easygoing person who lived in the moment. Discipline wasn’t high on her list of priorities.

She’d lost a son to meningitis when the boy was just five years old. That was before Wyatt had been born and his father had told him that his mother had never been the same afterward.

For a solid year she’d grieved and no one could reach her, his dad had said, and then one day she started singing “Kentucky Rain” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” She’d listened to Elvis’s records over and over, and Wyatt’s father had let her be. She’d found her solace.

Over the years his mother’s eccentricity increased. But these days she was content, and Wyatt was grateful to have her in his life to lean on when things got rough. She looked at the world a little differently, but who was to say what was right and what was wrong?

She was probably the main reason he’d moved back into his childhood home. He needed a little of her kind of insanity in his life, Elvis songs and all. He slid into his car and headed for the jail.

There’d been too much dying in the Carson family. Maybe that was why he was so lenient with Jody. He wanted their days to be happy because life could be snatched away without a moment’s notice. And he wanted every memory to be treasured.

When he walked into his office, he heard a faint moan. A flicker of apprehension shot through him. He ran into the jail and saw Lamar lying on the floor. Zeke was gone and so was Ms. Ross. Damn it all to hell!

Kneeling, he felt for a pulse. When he found it, a sigh of relief escaped him. Lamar moaned again and Wyatt helped him sit up.

“Are you okay?”

Lamar rubbed his throat. “That bastard choked me.”

“Zeke?”

“Yeah.”

With Wyatt’s help, Lamar staggered to his feet. They walked into the office and Lamar flopped into a chair.

“What happened?” Wyatt asked.

“Zeke said he was sick and had a fever. I…I fell for it. He had me around the neck before I knew it. I’m…I’m sorry, Wyatt.”

“Did he take Ms. Ross?”

Lamar went still. “Is she gone?”

“Yes.”

“I heard them talking.” Lamar rubbed his throat.

“About what?”

“I…Oh, Sheriff…” Lamar was shaking and his skin was a grayish color.

“Take a deep breath,” Wyatt coaxed while reaching for his cell to call Judy Deaver, the nurse. Since Horseshoe didn’t have a clinic, they depended on the nurse for minor emergencies.

“Judy, this is Wyatt. I need you at the jail immediately.”

“Be right there.”

“Keep taking deep breaths,” he told Lamar.

Next he called Stuart and didn’t waste words. “Get to the jail now.” He had a feeling time was of the essence.

Lamar was about to slide out of the chair, so Wyatt urged him to stand, wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to a cot in the back room.

“Relax and try to breathe normally.”

“My throat hurts and…and I can barely breathe.”

Judy came through the door with her bag.

“Back here,” Wyatt called.

“What happened?” she asked, taking Lamar’s pulse.

“Zeke near choked the life out of him.”

She spared Wyatt a glance. “When are you going to do something about that man?”

“Tonight,” he replied. He’d let Zeke Boggs get away with too much because of his diminished mental capacity, but kidnapping a prisoner was way over the line. Or at least he assumed she’d been kidnapped. Ms. Ross might have talked Zeke into letting her go. Then he’d have two prisoners on the lam. Either way, it wasn’t good for his department.

Stuart charged through the door, still stuffing his shirt into his pants. “What’s happening?”

Wyatt reached for his rifle in the gun cabinet. “Zeke assaulted Lamar and escaped. Ms. Ross is gone, too. I don’t know if they’re together or not, but I will find out.”

“Holy crap! We’ve never had a jailbreak.”

That didn’t sit well with Wyatt, either. “Call Bubba and get him to watch the office. Use your truck with the four-wheel drive and head to Earl Boggs’s place and let him know you’re going through his property to get to Zeke’s place. Tell him I’m going through the back way on horseback. It should be faster. I’ll meet you at Zeke’s.”

“Okay.”

Wyatt handed him a rifle. “Be careful and watch your back.”

The only way to get to Zeke’s quickly was through the Daniels property, which bordered Boggs’s land. As Wyatt spun away from the office, he reached for his cell and poked out Tripp Daniels’s number.

Tripp answered on the second ring.

“This is Wyatt. I hate to bother you at this time of night, but I need a fast horse.”

He and Tripp were friends. They went to school together for a time when the Carsons had moved to nearby Bramble to take care of his mother’s mother. Tripp was a rodeo rider, but he’d retired and settled down with a wife and a family.

“You got it.”

Wyatt liked that about Tripp. No questions. He knew Wyatt wouldn’t ask unless it was important. “See you in about ten minutes.”

Wyatt swerved onto the dirt road that led to the Lady Luck Ranch, hoping his instincts were right and Zeke had hightailed it to his shack and moonshine still on the river. He also hoped he hadn’t taken Peyton Ross with him. That would mean, though, that Ms. Ross had persuaded Zeke to unlock her cell and let her go. She would be an escaped prisoner. A huge knot formed in his gut. And it had a name. Peyton Ross.

He had a feeling he was going to rue the day he’d ever set eyes on the woman.