Texas Forever

by Janet Dailey

  Luke

  Fighting tears, she refolded the note and stuffed it into her pocket. She couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the house to face Rose, Carmen, and possibly her father. Instead she crossed the yard to the stallion barn, went inside, and opened Tesoro’s stall. Her stallion nickered a greeting and thrust his elegant head toward her. She spoke to him, pressing her face against his neck. When the tears threatened to come, she found a brush and began grooming his satiny coat, over the withers, down the shoulders, and along the back. The big palomino quivered with pleasure.

  Don’t cry. Erin focused on the rhythm of the brush and the response of her horse. Don’t cry. You’re a big girl now. You’re going to be all right....

  “Erin.”

  She didn’t recognize the male voice behind her until she turned and saw Deputy Roy Porter standing at the entrance to the stall. Partway behind him, half hidden in shadow, was Rose.

  Erin’s throat had gone dry. What if something had happened to Luke? She forced the words. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “Something’s happened to your father, Erin,” Roy said. “He was shot on his way home.”

  “My father? Shot?” Erin’s knees went weak as she grasped at denial. No! There had to be a mistake! Nobody would shoot Will! He was too strong, like a rock—her rock.

  But surely he’d be all right. She would go rushing into the hospital to find him sitting up in bed, smiling at her, joking about his wound and warning her not to hug him too tightly.

  “Where is he?” she asked. “How badly is he hurt?”

  Rose came forward, her face a mask of anguish. She took Erin’s hand, gripping it painfully with her small, strong fingers. “Will’s dead, Erin,” she said. “Somebody killed him.”

  * * *

  The next hours passed in a blur of pain-induced shock. Erin functioned like an automaton, doing what had to be done. She was the boss of the Rimrock now. Private grief would have to wait.

  Sky was on the mountain with the cattle. When Erin called his cell phone from the office, there was no answer—service was spotty at best up there. She left a voice message and another message with his wife, Lauren. Rose had offered to make the call to Beau. Erin insisted on doing it herself, even though giving Will’s brother the news almost broke her.

  “Are you all right, Erin?” he asked.

  “I’ll have to be all right, won’t I?”

  “I’ll be on the next plane out. We’ve got to find the bastard who did this.”

  Erin ended the call and sank into Will’s big, old leather chair—the chair that had long since conformed to the shape of the rangy, muscular Tyler men. The yearning to see her father again and beg his forgiveness for walking out in anger from last night’s supper table was like a cry inside her. How could she have known she would never hear his voice or see his face again?

  Outside, the sheriff had arrived. He and Roy were already interviewing the ranch hands who’d been around that morning. They’d talked to Erin and Rose as well, and to Carmen, who’d been the last to see Will before he left for town.

  Erin knew that the lawmen wouldn’t tell her everything they learned. But it was hard to imagine anyone on the ranch wanting to kill her father. Will was—had been—a tough boss, but he was liked and respected by all the men. Could his murder—and that was the word Erin would have to get accustomed to—have something to do with the strange figure she and Luke had seen prowling around the ranch? She had mentioned that to Roy again, but he’d been dismissive of the notion. The killer, whoever it was, had known that Will would be coming back from town, and had set up an ambush to shoot him.

  The office door stood ajar. Sheriff Harger gave a light rap, then walked in without an invitation. A heavyset man in late middle age, with a thick, iron-gray mustache, he’d grown up in Blanco County. He knew every inch of the land and most of the people who lived on it.

  “I’m right sorry about your dad, Erin,” he said. “What a god-awful shock, that somebody would shoot a man like Will.”

  Erin murmured a polite thank-you, but something told her the sheriff hadn’t come inside to offer condolences.

  “I’ve been talking to the hands,” he said. “Two of them told me they heard a big row in the barn this morning between Will and the farrier he’d hired—a man named Luke Maddox.”

  Erin’s stomach clenched. Luke would never do anything to hurt Will. But the fact that they’d had an argument a few hours before Will was murdered had to look suspicious.

  “From what I heard, it was Will doing the shouting,” the sheriff said. “He was telling Maddox to keep away from his daughter. Do you know anything about that?”

  Erin rose to her feet. “Yes. Luke and I wanted to spend time together. He insisted that I tell my father first. I did. My father didn’t like the idea.”

  “Did you know about the argument?”

  “Not until now. Rose and I were working on her land all morning. You already know that.”

  “And Maddox? What happened to him?”

  Erin felt a wave of nausea. She knew where this interrogation was leading, but all she could do was tell the truth. “He took his gear and left,” she said. “When I came back to the house, he was gone. He left a note with Carmen for my father. It’s right there, on the desk.”

  Harger unfolded the yellow note paper. “It’s just his hours and where to send the check—some kind of facility in Oklahoma. So far, at least, it doesn’t make sense that he’d plan to kill a man who owed him money.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. Luke had no reason to shoot my father.”

  “But what about you as the reason? Pretty young girl, in line to inherit a ranch, and her father standing in his way. That strikes me as reason enough.”

  Erin’s heart plunged. Knowing the sheriff would want to see it, she pulled the other note out of her shirt pocket. “He left this for me, in the duplex where he was staying.”

  Harger studied the note, saying nothing.

  “See?” Erin’s desperation was rising to panic. There was no way Luke would have murdered her father. But the sheriff clearly thought otherwise. “Read the note again,” she pleaded. “He was saying good-bye. He never meant to come back here.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” The sheriff took two plastic bags out of his vest pocket and bagged each note as evidence. “Right now, there’s only one thing I can tell you for sure. I need to find Mr. Maddox and ask him some serious questions. If I don’t like the answers, he’s going to find himself facing a charge of premeditated murder.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE TV NEWS CREW ARRIVED IN THEIR VAN, SWARMING OVER THE yard, cornering the cowboys and the sheriff for interviews, and ringing the front doorbell again and again. Rose volunteered to go out and fend them off. Fierce as a miniature Rottweiler, she ordered the crew off the porch, informing them that there would be a statement later, and meanwhile they were to respect the family’s privacy.

  Erin watched the nightmare from the office window, peering like a fugitive between the closed slats of the venetian blinds. The reality of Will’s death was just beginning to sink in. Never again would he walk in through the front door. Never again would she sit across from him at breakfast, sharing plans for the day ahead. The hundreds of things he did—the hiring and firing, the financial decisions, the supervision of the men, the marketing of the cattle and so much more—all would fall to her. But the avalanche of responsibility was nothing compared to her grief. She had loved her father. He had been her refuge, her rock. To lose him was unthinkable.

  Don’t cry. You won’t be able to stop.

  Through the blinds, she could see the sheriff talking to a reporter on camera. Was he mentioning Luke—putting out the word that he’d quarreled with Will and left the ranch? Had he already put out an APB on Luke’s rig?

  Luke was an innocent victim of circumstance. Erin knew that. But the sheriff had zeroed in on the perfect suspect and showed no signs of backing off—while the real killer, whoever he or s
he might be, was getting away with murder.

  The jangle of Erin’s cell phone broke into her thoughts. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Kyle. Her first impulse was to ignore the call. But sooner or later, she’d have to talk to him. It might as well be now.

  “Hi, Erin. Did you get my flowers?” His voice was cheerful. Clearly he hadn’t heard the news.

  “Yes. Thank you. They’re lovely.”

  “You sound a little off. Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “No. My father is dead. He was murdered this morning.” For Erin, saying the words drove the reality deeper, like a hammer pounding in a nail.

  “What?” Kyle gasped. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

  “He was shot, ambushed, at the turnoff to the lane. That’s all I was told.”

  Kyle was silent as the news sank in. Then he spoke. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. Not Will. I can imagine what you’re going through. Don’t worry, Erin, I’m here for you. I’ll be right over.”

  “No!” The last thing she needed was Kyle fussing over her, most likely pushing his own agenda. “The sheriff’s here. The press is here. Beau will be coming, and I’m still trying to reach Sky. I can’t deal with you right now, Kyle. I can’t deal with us.”

  “All right. But you’re going to need a man in the time ahead. I want you to know I’ll be there for you.”

  “I can’t talk now, Kyle. I have to go.”

  Erin ended the call before he could say anything else. She couldn’t think about Kyle now. She was still in shock from her father’s death. And she had too many questions on her mind, such as who might have hated Will enough to set up an ambush, lie in wait, and shoot him when he stepped out of his truck. The person who’d done it was still out there, free and unsuspected; but she couldn’t count on Sheriff Harger to find the real murderer. Not when he’d already pinned the blame on Luke.

  Finding the truth, and clearing Luke of almost certain charges, would be up to her. She would make it her job to find answers, starting with the mysterious, long-haired prowler who could still be haunting the ranch.

  * * *

  From Marie’s vantage point in the escarpment, the buildings and vehicles looked like miniature toys, the humans like insects. But even without the cheap, cracked binoculars she’d stolen from a thrift store, she could tell that something big was going on at the Rimrock.

  Early that morning, she’d seen the two women take the dirt road north in the brown station wagon. About an hour later, Will Tyler’s pickup had headed toward the highway. Soon afterward, the farrier’s distinctive rig had pulled out of the yard and disappeared in the same direction. Around noon, the women had returned. And now this.

  She lifted the binoculars to her eyes and fiddled with the adjustment. There was no way to get a good focus, but she could make out the sheriff’s big, tan SUV parked next to the porch, and the news van a few yards away. A reporter was interviewing a stocky man who was probably the sheriff, with a cameraman and another man with a microphone hovering close. Marie remembered the old news adage, If it bleeds, it leads. Only one thing would bring the law and a news crew clear out here—a violent death.

  Too bad the victim wasn’t the little Tyler bitch. That would save Marie the trouble of killing her. But she’d seen Erin Tyler and the older woman walking back to the house after the sheriff arrived. It had to be somebody else. Will’s truck was still gone, and Sky was nowhere to be seen. Unless it was one of the cowhands, it had to be one of them.

  Not that it mattered. She didn’t much care about Will; and Sky, although he was family, had shut her out of his life before she went to prison. Either way was no skin off her nose. But she might have to rethink her plan for the girl. With so many people around, including the law, the risk was too great. For now, all she could do was wait for a better chance. But Marie’s patience was wearing thin. She needed to dispatch the girl, inform Stella, retrieve the stashed bricks of heroin, sell them, and head for the border. The longer she stayed around, the greater the risk of getting caught for violating parole and sent back to Gatesville.

  But what if there was another way? What if she could find Stella’s drug stash on her own?

  How hard could it be? Stella had lived in a rented apartment. She wouldn’t have hidden the heroin there, or in her car, which was long gone. And she wouldn’t have hidden the bricks on open land or in the escarpment. There was too much chance of their being found. Just one hiding place made sense—the only piece of property Stella had owned—the Blue Coyote.

  Having worked there and lived upstairs, Marie knew every inch of the old bar. If the heroin was there—and it had to be—she would find it. All she had to do was get inside with tools and time to look.

  Stella had sold the bar to Abner Sweeney to pay her legal costs. Stella and Abner had been friends. As sheriff, he’d skated the edge of the law by doing her a few so-called favors. Maybe if Marie told him that Stella needed her to find something personal . . . But no, that story would never fly. Abner might not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but he wasn’t an idiot. She couldn’t expect him to look the other way while she tore the place apart searching for illegal drugs.

  She would have to go in late at night, after the bar was closed. And she’d have to make sure that no one saw her and lived to tell about it.

  * * *

  Luke had told himself that leaving Erin was the best thing he could do for her. Still, with every mile he drove, the pain of missing her deepened. Over the years, he’d enjoyed a few brief relationships—interludes that had always ended when he moved on. Until Erin came into his life, he’d been satisfied with things as they were. But being with her had made him want more—waking up every morning to the sight of her beautiful face, filling a home with love and the laughter of children.

  But he should have known he wasn’t made to have those things. He was a temporary kind of man—and Erin was a forever kind of woman.

  He’d written the truth in his note. He would never forget her.

  Driving since morning, he’d picked up northbound Interstate 27 in Lubbock and was coming into Plainview when he felt the need for a break. At the foot of a handy off-ramp, he found a small diner. Leaving his rig in the parking lot, he went inside, used the restroom, and ordered coffee and apple pie at the counter.

  While he was eating, his gaze wandered to the TV mounted on the wall. A regional newscast was just coming on. Luke gave it half an ear until a familiar name arrested his attention.

  “Will Tyler, a prominent Blanco County rancher, was shot and killed near his ranch this morning. The unidentified killer, who ambushed Tyler on the road from Blanco Springs, is still at large. But Luke Maddox, a temporary worker on the Rimrock Ranch, has been named as a person of interest by the county sheriff.”

  There was more, but Luke didn’t wait to hear it. Knowing better than to draw attention by rushing, he peeled a bill out of his wallet, laid it on the counter, walked out into the parking lot, and climbed into his truck. After the initial shock of the news, his first thought was for Erin and how she must be grieving. He ached to be there for her. But what comfort could he give her when he was, evidently, the prime suspect in her father’s murder?

  Starting the engine, he drove out of the parking lot. Running would be a fool’s choice. It would only make him look guilty. He had to go back to Blanco Springs and try to account for himself.

  Crossing to the southbound on-ramp, he headed back the way he’d come. He was innocent of any crime. But given the circumstantial evidence—his relationship with Erin, the scene with Will, and his lack of an alibi—convincing the sheriff would be tough. Luke knew he had a fight ahead of him. But it was the thought of Erin that drove him now. If she believed in his innocence, he could get through anything. But what if she didn’t? What if she’d already judged him guilty?

  He was on the freeway, somewhere between Lubbock and the exit to the Blanco Springs highway, when he saw the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview m
irror. He pulled off the road and stopped. It was time to face whatever had to be faced.

  * * *

  The sun was getting low when Erin heard the screech of Sky’s arriving truck outside. She rushed onto the porch to meet him as he vaulted out of the cab and took the steps two at a time. He was rank with sweat and coated with dust, but as she flung her arms around him, he felt like the only solid thing in a world that was crumbling around her.

  He held her as he might hold a child, patting her back in a vain effort to comfort her. “My phone wasn’t working,” he said, releasing her. “Lauren gave me the news about Will when I walked in the door. We’re all in shock, but we’re your family, Erin. We’ll get through this together.”

  “Beau’s coming,” Erin said. “He told me he’d be on the next flight.”

  “Good. Maybe he can help us find out who did this awful thing.”

  “The sheriff thinks it was Luke. Did Lauren tell you that?”

  “Lord, no! I can’t imagine Luke killing anybody. He’s one of the gentlest men I know. And he had nothing against Will.”

  “Not according to the sheriff. Luke and my father had an argument this morning. Then, after Dad went to town, Luke packed up and left.”

  “An argument? What about?” Sky asked.

  “Me.”

  Sky looked puzzled, but only for a moment. “You . . . and Luke?”

  “I love him, Sky.” Erin had never said those words before but she felt the truth of them like a burning flame inside her. “I love him and I know he’s innocent. But I don’t know how to prove it.”

  “Oh, blast it, Erin.” Sky shook his head. “This is getting complicated. Where’s Luke now?”

  “I have no idea. He could be in jail—or on the road, maybe without even knowing what happened. . . .” Erin’s voice broke.

  Rose came out of the kitchen. “Heavens to Betsy, Sky, you must be starved,” she said. “I sent Carmen home and warmed up some of the stew she made last night. Sit down at the kitchen table, and I’ll bring you a bowl.”