Читать книгу Gambling On A Dream - Sara Walter Ellwood - Страница 9

Dawn sat on her couch and shook the colorful woven blanket over her knees. Her grandmother had made it for her when she’d graduated high school. It always reminded her of the cozy warmth that comforted her when she’d visit Nana in Oklahoma. As she picked up the remote from the end table, Taco, her beagle, waddled over from her doggy bed in the corner by the bookshelf.

Taco looked up at Dawn and barked, her tail swishing back and forth. She had more white then brown on her muzzle and face, and her old joints were slow with arthritis. Dawn leaned over and helped the aging pup up onto the couch beside her.

“You’re getting too heavy, ole girl. Doc Evans is going to have a fit the next time I take you for a checkup,” she said, referring to the town’s veterinarian.

Taco’s response was to lay her head on Dawn’s lap and close her eyes.

As Dawn flipped through the channels, she stroked over the smooth fur of the dog’s head. With a chuckle and a glance at Taco, Dawn turned up the volume of the TV so she could hear it over the beagle’s snores.

She paused the clicking long enough to stop at the eleven o’clock news on Channel Ten out of Dallas. Dawn frowned as she stared at the anchor, Vanessa Burk, while she talked about a fatal multiple car pileup on Interstate Twenty. She was a beautiful blonde with gleaming hair, cut in the hottest Hollywood style, with straight white teeth and big green eyes. Dawn turned off the TV and set the controller on the end table.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Wyatt had dated Vanessa for over ten years. They’d met in college and had even lived together for several years, but when she wanted to get married, Wyatt called off the relationship.

Two months later, Dawn had sex with him after a stakeout, and her life became everything she’d ever wanted. Had things gotten too serious between them? Had he been afraid of getting tied down with a woman? Was that why he’d left Vanessa? Had Wyatt planned to dump her too? Was that why he’d left her after she’d lost their baby?

She shook her head to dispel the litany of questions she’d asked herself for years and glanced down at the sleeping dog. Had Wyatt ever loved her at all?

As she took a deep breath, she stood, folded the blanket, and put it in its place over the arm of the couch. Taco woke up, and Dawn helped the dog to the floor. “C’mon, time for bed.”

Taco lumbered back to her bed in the corner while Dawn headed for the kitchen. She put the dishes from the drying rack away in the overhead cabinet. As she dumped the last of the day’s coffee down the drain, she turned off the coffee maker. After she rinsed out the sink and turned off the kitchen lights in her trailer, she made her way back through the living room to the bedroom at the end of the singlewide.

Someday she’d have a big house, but for now, the trailer she’d moved onto her third of the ranch was enough.

She turned on the lamp hanging on the wall by the full-sized bed and changed into the T-shirt and shorts she slept in. Her knees were only inches from the oak dresser when she sat on the end of her bed. She opened the top drawer to take out a pair of socks when the corner of an old photo album she had in the bottom caught her attention.

With a deep breath, she pulled out the album and laid it on her lap.

She smoothed her hand over the damask of the cover before opening it to the first page. The picture staring back at her had been taken twenty years ago and was of her, Wyatt, Audrey, Rachel, Talon, the Cartwright kids--Zack, Logan, Lance and his sister Faith, and the Quinns--Dylan and Tracy. The only ones missing were her brother, Hunter, and Wyatt’s brother, Kyle. They’d been toddlers when Zack’s mother had snapped the photo at a church picnic.

She smiled at the cheesy grin on Wyatt’s face as he, Talon, Lance and Dylan stood behind the younger kids. Back then, they’d all been friends, cousins or siblings. Who would have thought so many of the friends would end up as lovers? She laughed and turned the page as she wiped at a stray tear.

Several more family photos passed by--Christmases, Easters and the family trips to Oklahoma to visit her mother’s family. Other pictures were of Talon and Wyatt, sometimes with their other friends, and several of them were of her and Zack Cartwright at the various rodeos they’d participated in as teenagers.

She turned the page to a picture Wyatt’s mother had taken the night of her senior prom. Zack and Rachel talked her into going, despite her not wanting to. She never had a boyfriend, partly because her mother had always discouraged her from dating white boys, and because the boys had been too scared of her brother, Talon, and her father to ask her out.

Wyatt had learned of her lack of a date and asked her to the prom. That night had been a dream come true for her, and the big bright smile on her eighteen-year-old self positively glowed. She wiped away another tear as she stared at the tall, lanky boy who’d stolen her heart so many years ago.

She turned to the last page in the album and touched the grainy, black and white sonogram photo. Her baby boy on his last day of life. On the morning she’d been shot in the chest, she’d gone for her checkup and had a sonogram done.

“Let’s see what’s going on. This might feel a little uncomfortable.” Dr. Rice smiled and rubbed the transducer over Dawn’s lower belly.

The cold slimy feeling tickled, and the pressure on her full bladder hurt. The static cleared, and the fast beat of a heart echoed through the room. On the monitor, the outline of her baby materialized, and she stopped breathing, forgetting about the discomfort.

“Oh, God.” She gasped. Until then, her pregnancy hadn't seemed real. She hadn’t been sick more than a few times and had started to get a little rounding in her belly. “It’s so different from the last sonogram.”

“You’re further along than you were during the last one.” The doctor nodded and grinned as she glanced at Dawn. “Everything looks normal. Would you like to know the sex?”

She stared at the whitish outline of the baby and fisted her hand over her heart. A hundred different emotions chased through her--love, awe, hope, fear. Would Wyatt want to know? What would he do when she told him she was pregnant? Would he want to marry her? Or would he bail like Jock Blackwell had on her mother when she found out she was pregnant with Talon?

So many questions with no answers. But she couldn’t go on without telling Wyatt he was going to be a father.

She nodded and met the doctor’s expectant gaze. “Yes. I’d like to know.”

“You’re going to have a son, Dawn. Congratulations.”

Dawn touched the small face of the only photo she had of her baby. Although the world would never see his features, in her mind, he had Wyatt’s blue eyes and her dark hair. “I love you, angel baby. Please forgive me for what I’ve done to you.”

She closed her eyes. No matter what, she had to find out who was dealing drugs and killing kids in her town. She owed it to her baby for the life he was denied.

To do so, she’d even put up with the man who broke her heart.

* * * *

Wyatt sat across from his childhood friend at the conference table in the sheriff’s department. Talon Blackwell stared over Wyatt’s shoulder with a hard glower at Dawn, who stood behind him against the large map of Texas on the wall.

“If you aren’t formally charging me with Larson’s murder, I don’t have to answer your questions.”

Wyatt let out a breath. He’d been questioning Talon for an hour. They didn’t know any more than they did before.

Dawn moved forward and leaned over the table beside him. Her fragrance of honeysuckle and citrus filled his senses with memories of having her lying beside him, and of the pillow he’d kept long after they’d broken up just to keep her scent around.

“Talon, be reasonable here. We don’t think you were involved, but we have to close this loop.” Dawn sat beside Wyatt as she spoke. “Just tell us what you were doing on Main Street Monday morning at four AM and if you saw anything that can help us find the killer.”

“I told you.” Talon huffed out between his teeth and leaned back in the chair. “I didn’t see anything. I was on Main Street, but I don’t know anything about that boy.”

It was useless to keep up the questioning. Talon wasn’t telling them anything. Wyatt hated to admit it, even to himself, but Talon acted like a man with something to hide. He closed his notebook and glanced at Dawn. She tried to cover the tired dark circles under her eyes with makeup, but it had long ago worn away. Her shoulders sagged under the starched tan uniform blouse.

“I think we’re done here.” Wyatt stood to stretch his back.

Talon rolled out of his chair onto his feet and picked up his old straw cowboy hat. “Good. I’ve got work to do.”

Before he reached the door, Wyatt stepped into his path. “I hope I don’t have to remind you to let us know if you feel the need to leave the county.”

Talon cocked a dark brow and tipped his head as he put on his hat in a gesture Wyatt hoped was acquiescence, but could have as easily meant screw you. As Talon shoved past him to head for the door, he didn’t so much as look at his sister.

When the door closed with a resounding click, Dawn pounded a fist onto the table with enough force to rattle their coffee mugs. “Dammit, who is he protecting?”

He glanced back at the door. Talon had always had it rough, but no worse than his sister or younger brother. Sure, being one of Jock Blackwell’s ill-begotten sons wasn’t something he’d wish on a rabid coyote. However, Tom Madison had treated Talon like a son all his life, even giving him a third of his ranch when he retired.

Talon had changed, and not for the better. His problems didn’t come from how he was raised, or even the occasional bullying. He was a troublemaker, and nothing would have changed him.

He sat in the chair Talon had vacated. “Or the question could be what is he hiding?”

She ran her hands over her dark hair to the tight bun at the base of her skull. With jerky movements, she pulled out the band holding the twisted braid captive. As she ran her fingers through the long mass of raven silk, heat coursed through him at the memories of all that hair covering him like a blanket while they’d made love. When she bent over the table and scratched her scalp in pure frustration, all he could think about was her hair hanging down her back to brush and tickle his thighs as she rode him--her favorite position--to orgasm.

The erection was fast and furious and nearly had him groaning. Thank God, he was sitting. He forced his numbed mind to focus on the case.

“We have to find someone else who may have seen or knows something.” She glanced across the table at him and straightened. If there was ever the perfect picture of a beautiful Indian maiden, it was Dawn with her hair down. Had she ever had the stuff cut? He swallowed hard and shifted in his chair as his jeans strangled his cock. How long had it been since he’d had sex? He couldn’t remember, but refused to believe he hadn’t been with someone since Dawn.

With swift, practiced motions, she broke the trance he was under by daftly braiding her hair and wrapping it into a bagel-sized knot at the back of her head. She snapped the hair band over the bun.

He cleared his throat. “When are we talking to Chris’s friends?” His voice came out sounding a bit husky, even to his ears.

She stood, taking their coffee cups with her, and refilled them. After she dumped that god-awful crap pretending to be creamer into hers, she handed him a mug of black joe. Sipping her coffee from the extra-large, bright green mug he’d given to her for her thirtieth birthday, she returned to her chair.

“Hendricks and Kennedy are getting a list, but according to Julie, he didn’t have many friends in Colton.”

“How about Justin Vaughn? He’s always been a known dealer. Maybe he knows something.” He sipped his coffee.

She smiled, and he almost choked as he swallowed the hot, bitter brew. “Haven’t thought of him. We should talk to him. They’re about the same age. Vaughn’s working over at his uncle’s farm and garden market.”

He set his mug on the table and glanced at his watch. “I can’t today.”

“Hot date?”

Grinning, he stood. “No. I’m buying the Estrada Ranch.”

Her dark eyes widened. “Really? I heard Luis and Stella were thinking of moving to New Mexico, but I didn’t know it was a done deal. I figured it would go to either Jose or Mary,” she said, referring to the Estradas’ son and daughter. “How long has their place been up for sale? I haven’t seen a sign in their yard.”

He shrugged and reached for his hat where it sat on the edge of the table. “Luis and Stella told Mom and Dad they planned to sell the place a couple of weeks ago while playing Bingo at the firehouse. When they told me, I called the Estradas and made an offer. It never officially made it on the market. I’ve been looking for a small ranch.”

“We’ll be neighbors when you settle in there.” She cocked her head to the side. “I never knew you wanted to be a rancher.”

“You never cared about a lot of things I wanted.” His bitterness surprised even him.

She stood and picked up her mug, leaving his where it sat. As she headed for the door, she nodded toward it. “We have a policy around here. We clean up after ourselves. Something I seem to remember you have a hard time with.”

* * * *

Wyatt signed his name on the last page of the contract and leaned back in the chair, the gravity of what had just transpired making him dizzy. Three hours ago, he was as rootless as tumbleweed and had more money in the bank than he’d known what to do with. As of two seconds ago, he was the proud owner of a hundred-acre ranch and had a few million dollars less to worry about getting moldy in the Cattleman’s Bank and Trust.

“Congratulations.” His brother-in-law, Lance Cartwright, smiled at him from across the table sitting in the middle of the massive country kitchen of what was now his new house. Or at least, it would be as soon as the Estradas moved out at the end of the week.

“Thanks for drawing up the papers.” Wyatt set the pen on top of the documents as Lance reached for them. He looked at the smiling Estradas, sitting at the end of the table. “Thank you. I don’t want you to think I’m rushing you out of your home.”

When he’d arrived at the Estradas’ ranch, Stella was waiting for him with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies, while Luis handed him a cold Coors. Stella and his mother had been best friends since they were children. Luis and his father had been drinking buddies for years. The older couple couldn’t contain their excitement that Wyatt was interested in their ranch.

Stella reached over and squeezed his hand. “Nonsense. You aren’t rushing us out. Our place in Albuquerque is ready for us to move into. And now, we don’t have to burden the kids with trying to get rid of the stock and the ranch. Jose has his life in San Antonio, and Mary has her hands full with teaching full-time.”

“We are so happy you wanted the place, Wyatt. Let’s have a drink to celebrate.” Luis stood and headed for the cabinet by the refrigerator, but stopped half way there and looked around the kitchen. “This is a great house for kids. I remember when Stella babysat. Those little buggers would drive me crazy.”

“Hey, I remember being one of those little buggers.” Lance laughed and pointed at Wyatt. “But you’re right. Wyatt could use a couple rug rats running around this place.”

Wyatt’s grin froze on his face, and he forced a chuckle. “Don’t start sounding like my mother. I’m not ready for kids.” The lie hung heavy in the air. “How about that drink?”

“Comin’ right up.” Luis took a tequila bottle from the cabinet. As he poured three shots, Stella grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge. She never drank anything stronger. As Luis handed one of the glasses to Lance, he asked, “Have any of those mares your cousin has pastured next to our place pop up pregnant?”

Lance took the shot and chuckled. “Two of them are.”

Wyatt accepted his glass from Luis and grinned. “Is Zack still upset with old Thunderbolt?”

Back in August, the fence between the Estradas’ ranch and the CW had broken down, allowing an old rodeo paint stallion by the name of Thunderbolt to get in with Zack’s newly purchased thoroughbred mares. From what Wyatt recalled, Zack had been furious until Talon’s older half brother, Johnnie Blackwell, and their cousins, Jake and Brent Parker, had relieved him of the mares by stealing them. Fortunately, Wyatt had contacts west of Midland who’d been investigating a ring of horse thieves, and the Texas Rangers had been able to recover the animals before they’d been sold on the black market.

“Do pigs like mud?” Lance shook his head. “But he’ll get over it. Thunderbolt was a champion back in the day. Those foals will be damned good horses.” He raised his glass to Wyatt. “And just think, now that stud is all yours.”

Not only had Wyatt purchased the ranch, he’d also bought eighty-five head of cattle and six horses. Talk about jumping in with the alligators.

Luis held up his shot glass. “Make sure you charge him for the stud service the next time.”

They all laughed and clicked glasses. “I sure will. To new beginnings.”

Lance’s smile broadened. “You better believe it. To new beginnings.”

* * * *

Talon strode through the old beer joint and looked around the dark interior from under the brim of his hat. Unlike the Longhorn Saloon, the Hardware Bar was a dive he liked to avoid. His boots crunched on the peanut shells covering the floor as he made his way to the scuffed bar. He breathed a sigh of relief that his older half brother, Darryl Blackwell, and not his mother was at the bar. She was the number one reason he didn’t like the place. Although Talon had never been close to any of his Blackwell brothers, Darryl was the one that seemed to accept Talon into the clan the most.

Darryl nodded a greeting as he stopped to take Talon’s order. “Hey, what can I getcha? Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

With a shrug to Darryl’s second statement, he said, “A bottle of Coors.” When his brother handed it to him, he jutted his chin toward the back room. “Is Chief in the back?”

Darryl chuckled and wiped at the bar with a rag as stained and beat-up as the wood. “Of course, where else would he be Wednesday night? From what I’m hearing, he’s beating the pants off the guys.”

“Thanks.” Talon tossed a bill on the bar to cover the cost of his beer and headed to the back room.

Several cowboys looked his way as they waited their turn on the pool tables, but he ignored them and entered the poker lounge. Although gambling was technically illegal in Texas bars, the Hardware somehow always avoided being shut down for its gaming room. His stepfather had claimed the reason was Lydia O’Donnell, Darryl’s mother, knew too many secrets of too many men on the town council for them not to be afraid of her.

Smoke from cigars and cigarettes clung to the air as he looked around until he found Chief. The old Comanche picked up the cards dealt to him and tossed two away. Talon waited on the fringes of the room, drinking his beer, as the man he’d always considered his grandfather played out the game.

Tate Jackson tossed in his cards with a curse. “I’m done.” The big African-American stood and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Louise is gonna kill me if I’m not home by ten.”

Chief gathered up the chips in the center of the table. “More like that wife of yours don’t like you donatin’ your paycheck to my retirement fund.”

Several of the men standing back, watching the game, chuckled. Tate grinned, his white teeth bright against his dark face. “That too. Have a good one, Chief.” He slipped on a warn denim jacket and looked around. “Hope your luck’s better than mine, boys.”

After Tate left, Chief glanced at Talon. He took the chair across from his grandfather. Something in his stark expression must have alerted Chief that Talon wanted to talk and didn’t want an audience.

“Gentlemen, I’d like a word with my grandson.”

A moment later, they were alone, and the old Comanche, who everyone in town called Chief, including his grandchildren, leaned forward over his crossed arms, resting on the table, and waited.

Talon stared at the scuffed table and took a deep breath. No use beating around the bush with Chief. He’d always admired the old man’s no-bullshit personality. “I’m going to Vegas.”

Chief raised a brow. “Thought your sister told you to stay put.”

Talon huffed between his teeth. “I can’t do that. Something’s come up, and I have to go.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table. “Please give this to Mom.”

Chief glanced at the white envelope but didn’t pick it up. “Son, I know you don’t have anything to do with the crap that’s goin’ on ’round here, but if you leave, you’ll only make yourself look as guilty as a half-dressed whore at a church picnic.”

Talon tapped his fingers on the table. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that, but if he didn’t leave now, he’d never forgive himself. “Just tell Mom I’m sorry.”

Chief shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I guess you ain’t gonna tell me why the sudden need for the Vegas vacation.”

Looking down at the table, Talon signed and shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Guess it’s best I don’t know. Then I won’t have to keep track of a bunch of lies.” He shuffled the cards in his hands.

Talon let a small smile touch his lips. Chief might be bursting with curiosity, but he wouldn’t press him to learn his secrets, which was the reason he'd come to his grandfather and hadn’t told anyone else in his family where he was going. He didn’t want to answer questions he wasn’t even sure the answers to.

The door opened behind him and he turned. The smile fell right off his lips. Damn, this was the last thing he needed to deal with right now.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Chet Hendricks ambled into the room like he was John Wayne. “Teaching the boy your bad habits, Chief?”

Talon stood and faced the son-of-a-bitch who’d made his life hell since he was a kid. Surely, Dawn wouldn’t have sent Chet after him. “What do you want, Hendricks?”

Chet shrugged and moved around the outside of the dingy room. “Nothing but finding a murderer and drug dealer.” He faced Talon with a tight-lipped grin that never reached his hard eyes. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Blackwell?”

Talon had more than his share of assholes as arrogant and mean as Hendricks in his life. He glanced at his grandfather. “See you later, Chief.”

Hendricks stepped in front of him as he headed for the door. “Not so fast. I want to know what you and Justin Vaughn were so chummy about. Heard you and he were talking yesterday. We all know he’s a two-bit dealer.”

What the hell was he talking about? Vaughn was the kid he'd bought apples for his horse from. Talon had gone to school with his mother and had always had a soft spot for him because the kid had dealt with the same shit he had to put up with while growing up.

The chair Chief sat on scrapped the floor as if he stood, but Talon didn’t look away from the deputy.

“Unless you are here on official business, Deputy Hendricks, I suggest you leave now, because police harassment is still illegal from what I understand. And I do believe the Constitution guarantees due process and innocence until proven guilty. Besides, you wouldn’t want it said you don’t follow the law to the letter, now would you? That might look bad in your campaign for sheriff.”

It never failed to amaze Talon when his dear ole granddad put away the vernacular of the illiterate Indian cowboy, which most folks in town believed him to be, and reverted to the speech of the college-educated man he was. Of course, when Chief pulled out the big words, it was his way of saying fuck off.

Hendricks backed up and smirked in a self-satisfied way. “Nice to know you got your whole family protecting you, huh?”

Talon fisted his hands, but common sense kicked him in the ass before he let a punch fly. He glanced back at the envelope still on the table. He had more important things to consider than knocking the head off Chet Hendricks, no matter how damned satisfying that might have been.

“If you’re arresting me, do it. If not, get the hell out of my way.” When Hendricks stepped to the side, he stalked past the deputy and out the door.

* * * *

Dawn pounded on the door of the apartment above a weathered tractor shed at Vaughn’s Farm and Garden Market. “Justin, this is Sheriff Dawn Madison, open up!”

When no response came, she looked over her shoulder at Wyatt. He moved his leather vest away from his shoulder holster and gripped the Colt 45. She took his cue and drew the Glock from her hip holster. With it pointed to the bright morning sky in her right hand, she tried the knob with her left.

The door opened slowly, and Wyatt moved into the dark, rank-smelling interior after he determined the place was clear. He went right into the tiny bedroom; she headed left toward the living space. The action so natural her heart stopped for a split second.

When the stench caused her stomach to churn, Dawn switched to breathing through her mouth. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she scanned the messy room. Beer cans cluttered the tops of an old-fashioned iron sink and an ancient gas stove. Rust splotches pitted the dull white enamel of both.

The door of the 1970s Frigidaire stood open. The light inside flickering over shelves littered with takeout containers and a partial six-pack of Budweiser. A blackened tablespoon, two insulin syringes, and a burned down candle sat on the 1960s era aluminum table. One of the two miss-matched chairs was overturned, and yellowish stuffing poked out of the tears in the sagging greasy couch.

“Aw hell.”

Wyatt’s frustrated voice drew her attention to the doorway into the bedroom. He shoved his Colt into the holster. She rounded the unmade mattress to see what he'd found to make him feel safe enough to put away his gun.

He looked over his shoulder. “Well, we found Vaughn, but I don’t think he’ll be doing any talking.”

The eighteen-year-old lay flat on his back on the putrid carpet, surrounded by dirty clothes. He wore only a pair of filthy boxers. Inches from the bluish fingertips of his right hand lay a wide black piece of rubber and a syringe. Infected track marks darkened the inside of his elbows. But what probably killed him were the three blood-crusted stab wounds in his chest.

His sightless eyes stared at the ceiling, and his normally pale face and the bare skin of his chest had taken on the gray pallor of someone who’d been dead for a while.

She shoved her gun back into her side holster and knelt beside Wyatt. With a long exhale, she said, “You know, the stink when I opened the door should’ve been our first clue. Goddamn.”

Wyatt shook his head and stood. “Looks like the same MO as Larson’s murder.”

“Yeah. Probably killed for the same reason as Chris too. Shouldn’t surprise me. Vaughn’s been a petty dealer and user for years. I thought he was turning his life around after we arrested him in the spring.” She followed Wyatt to his feet, but the action was harder than it should have been. The weight of finding the killer settled squarely on her shoulders. Their only possible lead was literally a dead end. The only suspect was her brother, and she refused to think he had anything to do with this. She unclipped her iPhone from her service belt. “I’ll call it in.”

* * * *

Wyatt was ready to call it a night, and at nine PM, after speaking with Justin’s uncle and aunt, he was finally heading home. He was anxious to find out how Rachel made out at her VA appointment earlier that day.

Yesterday, he’d called her therapist and mentioned that he was afraid she might be having thoughts of hurting herself. He hated doing it, feeling like he was somehow tattling on his baby sister, but damn it all to hell, if she committed suicide, he’d never forgive himself.

“Wyatt, wait up.”

Turning at the voice, he stopped.

Chet Hendricks came out from behind his desk in the communal area of the station and headed toward Wyatt. “I hoped you’d be up for a beer over at the Hardware Bar. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m headed home.” Wyatt dug his truck keys from his jeans pocket. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Chet shifted his feet and hiked up his service belt. “Actually, no it can’t. It’s about Talon Blackwell.”

Wyatt glanced toward the glowing glass panel of the office door on the other side of the room. The gold painting and block letters still proclaimed his friend, Zack Cartwright, sheriff, but that office was Dawn’s domain.

“What about Talon?” Wyatt faced Chet.

The deputy’s dark eyes brightened, and his lips twitched as if he was fighting off a smile. “Not here. I’ll tell you at the saloon.” He patted Wyatt’s shoulder with a bony hand. “I think you’ll find this interesting.”

As they moved down the aisle to the back door, with Chet waving and tossing out “good nights” to the other deputies still at work, Wyatt got the feeling he was being herded. He stopped. No one herded him. “I’m not interested in a drink, Chet. If this is about the murders, out with it. Otherwise, I’m going home.”

Chet flattened his lips into a tight line and rubbed the back of his neck. But the displeasure lasted only a second. His half smile was back. “Okay. Here’s what I think. Talon Blackwell is guilty as sin and Dawn knows it. We all know she testified that her brother wasn’t an addict when he was caught and thrown in jail in Amarillo. Well, the evidence suggested otherwise. I looked up the reports. Talon not only was charged with using and possession of cocaine, but three witnesses testified they saw him dealing as well.”

Wyatt needed to look at those reports, but something about considering Talon didn’t sit right with him. “We have no evidence implicating him in either one of these murders.”

Circumstantial evidence was all they had. He’d been a cop too long to fall for the circumstantial. Occasionally, it provided the breadcrumbs through the forest to the real McCoy, but not often enough. Mostly, those breadcrumbs lead to dead ends or nothing at all.

He thought about the responses made by Justin’s uncle during his questioning. Kenny Vaughn mentioned Talon stopping by his farmer’s market on several occasions to buy apples for his stallion, and he would often talk at length with Justin, the last time being Tuesday morning. But Kenny had no idea what those conversations entailed.

Wyatt also knew Talon had always had a soft spot for the underdog. Despite the changes in his old friend, he still believed that part of Talon was there. Justin definitely qualified as someone stuck on the fringes of society, much as Talon himself always had been. Justin’s mother had been a classmate of his and Talon’s and got pregnant when she was seventeen. No one ever knew who his father was and the rumor had been that it was their high school band instructor. She ended up raising the kid on her own until breast cancer had taken her life four years ago, which had been when Justin’s addiction problems started.

Wyatt wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Talon saw Justin as something of a kindred spirit and wanted to help the kid out.

Chet rubbed his neck again. “Look. I know you and Talon were friends, but he’s into some bad shit these days. I think he’s getting rid of his competition.”

“What do you want, Chet?”

Shifting his feet, Chet cleared his throat. “I would like you to campaign for me. We all know Dawn isn’t the right person for sheriff. She’ll run this office as crooked as her father did.”

He narrowed his eyes at the deputy, then slipped his gaze to the others shifting in their chairs, pretending they hadn’t heard. The last thing he wanted was someone like Chet Hendricks in the sheriff’s office. The glow from Dawn’s office door window caught his attention again. Despite all of his bad feelings for her, and hatred of what she had done to him, she was the right choice for sheriff.

As he set his hat on his head, he met Chet’s expectant brown eyes again. “Tom is and was a good man. Yeah, he got a few kids out of trouble now and again, but when it mattered, he shot straight and true. Dawn will make a good sheriff for this town.”

Chet’s too-thin, boney face melted a bit. His was a day past a five o’clock shadow, and some of the scruff was coming in gray to match the patches of nearly white in his dark hair. The man was aging fast and not in a good way. Hard to believe Wyatt and Chet were the same age.

“Are you going to question Blackwell?” Chet put his hands on his skinny hips.

Wyatt reached for the knob of the back door to the parking lot. “Yes, but tomorrow is another day.”