Texas Forever

by Janet Dailey

  “But you did answer the phone, right?” Lauren asked.

  “Yes.” Carmen paused, struggling with the memory. “There was a man on the phone. He asked to talk to Will—called him by name. I said Mister Will had gone to town. Then he asked how soon Mister Will planned to be back. I told him”—her voice broke—“I told him he shouldn’t be more than a couple hours. Oh, no!” Breaking into sobs, Carmen pressed her hands to her face. “What if I shouldn’t have said that? What if it was my fault—my fault that Mister Will died?”

  Erin sprang out of her chair and wrapped an arm around the cook’s shoulders. “No, Carmen! It wasn’t your fault. You did what anyone would have done.”

  Sky rose from his place and moved around the table. “Listen to me, Carmen,” he said. “Nobody is blaming you for this. But maybe you can help us. Did the man give you his name? Did you even recognize his voice?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” Carmen’s sobs were ebbing. “At the time, I didn’t give it a second thought.”

  “Take your time.” Sky offered her a glass of water. “Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a call. What did he say when you answered the phone?”

  Carmen sipped the water, her eyes closed. “It’s coming back,” she said. “He was friendly. He knew my name. He said ‘Hello, Carmen, this is . . .’ Sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m trying.”

  “It’s all right. Take your time,” Sky said.

  She opened her eyes. “I remember now,” she said, pausing as if to make sure. “It was the neighbor, the man who runs the syndicate ranch—Mr. Cardwell.”

  * * *

  Vivian passed the bowls of pasta and meat sauce around the table and waited for the first verbal blow to fall. For as long as she could remember, Hunter had used the evening meal as a forum to lay down the law to his wife and son. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to his criticism and sarcastic barbs. But lately—over the past week or so—they’d gotten steadily worse. Lectures had become vicious rants, most of them over trifles.

  Was something wrong with him, or were these dark spells her fault? Hunter had always insisted that she brought out the worst in him. At some point, she’d begun to believe it.

  She was adding Italian dressing to the salad when Hunter started in on Kyle. When her husband was finished with their son, it would likely be her turn.

  “I heard on the news that Maddox was released from jail this morning,” he said. “It appears that his alibi checked out after all. He’s been cleared of all blame.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kyle twirled a length of dripping spaghetti onto his fork and captured it with his mouth.

  “Damn it, stop stuffing your face and listen to me!” Hunter snapped. “What kind of moron are you? You lied to the sheriff about seeing Maddox unload that tire from his rig. Now you’re in trouble and you don’t seem to give a shit.”

  Kyle swallowed his food. “I didn’t lie. I made a mistake. There’s no law against that. It’s only perjury if you lie under oath.”

  “Maybe you won’t be arrested. But anything you say or do reflects on our family. Nobody will ever trust us again. Hell, I could even lose my job over this. And what about the Tyler girl? You said you were going to fix that.”

  Kyle shrugged. “I gave it a shot. But that’s over and done with. Erin’s with Maddox, and she won’t even talk to me. But you won’t care, once you hear what she told me about the Rimrock’s money troubles.”

  “I knew that Will Tyler was having a struggle,” Hunter said. “But if you were to marry the girl, you might be in a position to ask the syndicate for help.”

  “No, I mean like big money troubles. She’s going to lose the ranch. The bank will foreclose after the first of October. Once that’s done I’m betting they’ll sell the property to the syndicate.”

  “Well, if that’s what happens, maybe the syndicate would hire you to manage the place.” Hunter waited for a response. When it didn’t come, he pressed his son harder. “Why not? You’ve got the degree and the experience.”

  “Great,” Kyle said. “Then I’d have a chickenshit job just like yours.”

  Hunter lunged to his feet, upending his chair as he stood. Vivian stifled a scream as his big hand slammed the side of his son’s head. Kyle reeled sideways, choking and cursing before he righted himself.

  “Kyle, are you all right?” Vivian was genuinely scared for him.

  “No,” Kyle whimpered. “I think my eardrum’s busted. My head’s ringing. Need to lie down.”

  “Don’t be a bawl baby. Stay here like a man and finish your food.” Hunter sat down again and poked his spaghetti with a fork. “If you can call this slop food. Vivian, why in hell’s name can’t you learn to cook pasta al dente? You always boil it to mush. And it’s cold. Why can’t you serve it hot?”

  “It was hot when I put it on the table,” Vivian said.

  “Don’t you dare contradict me!” A sweep of Hunter’s hand sent his plate crashing to the tile floor, splattering food and broken china in all directions. “You can’t cook or help with the ranch work or even be out in polite company without embarrassing me. All you’re good for is being a slut. A filthy, lying slut who’d let any man on top of her.”

  Vivian stared at him, speechless with horror. He’d said some awful things to her but he’d never gone this far before.

  Still unsteady from his father’s blow, Kyle pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ve had enough,” he said. “I’ll be out of here as soon as I can pack my things. Maybe if I get away from you two, I can figure out how to become a decent human being.”

  A startled look flashed across Hunter’s face, but he swiftly masked it. “Go on,” he snarled. “You can even take that old shitbucket of a truck you’ve been driving. I don’t care what you do. I’ve never believed you were my son anyway.”

  “Kyle!” A cry was torn from Vivian’s throat as her son headed for the stairs. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

  He turned with one foot on the bottom step. “I love you, Mother,” he said. “But I won’t stay around and be part of this sick mess anymore. If you can’t stand up to your husband, maybe it’s time you thought about leaving, too.”

  As Kyle disappeared upstairs, Hunter stood. Kicking a piece of broken china out of the way, he strode to the front door. “I’ll be back soon, Vivian,” he said. “And when I walk in the door, I want to see this place cleaned up and you in our bed.”

  After he’d gone, Vivian cleaned up the kitchen, not because Hunter had told her to, but because she couldn’t stand to look at the mess. Her face burned with shame as she swept the china shards into a dustpan and mopped up the spatters of spaghetti sauce. From upstairs, she could hear the sounds of Kyle packing to leave. She wouldn’t try to stop him. Her son was right. If she’d been mistreated by Hunter, it was because she’d allowed it. His abuse would stop only when she refused to tolerate it.

  By the time she’d finished mopping the kitchen floor, putting away the leftovers, and loading the dishwasher, it was dark outside. Kyle was running cardboard boxes and stuffed trash bags out to the truck. Standing in the kitchen, she watched him. She understood that he wanted to be gone before Hunter returned. But why couldn’t he stop and talk to her, or at least look at her?

  Never mind—she knew the answer to that question. He was determined to go, and he didn’t want anything holding him back, least of all the mother who’d coddled and protected him all his life.

  At last, Kyle went out the door and didn’t return. When she heard the old truck’s engine cough to life and fade with distance, Vivian knew he was gone. She hoped, with a mother’s desperation, that he’d be safe and that, somehow, he’d stay in touch with her. But he was a man now. She had to accept that and move on herself.

  Dry-eyed and strangely numb, she mounted the stairway and walked down the hall to the master bedroom at the end. Inside, she turned on a side lamp and sat down on the bed, which was covered with a treasured quilt her grandmother had made for her wedding. The drapes, whi
ch matched the yellow color in the quilt, were closed, the room stuffy from the heat of the day. She should open a window, Vivian thought, but she felt too drained to get up and move.

  What now?

  Maybe it was time to look after her own welfare.

  With Kyle gone, she would be the sole target of Hunter’s rages. And there would be no one here to stop him from getting physical—as he had tonight when he’d struck his son. Hunter was a strong man. If he lost control, she could be in real danger.

  Unless she was going to leave—and she had yet to make up her mind about that—she would have to walk on eggshells around the man. Among other things, that would mean complying with his demands in bed.

  As she reached under the pillow to get her nightgown, something crackled faintly beneath the mattress. Only then did she remember what she’d hidden there.

  She hadn’t reread those forbidden fantasies about Will since his death. Somehow, now that he was gone, it just didn’t seem fitting. Vivian knew she’d be a fool to keep those blistering pages. If Hunter were to find them by accident, she could only imagine what he would do.

  After rants like the one tonight, Hunter usually drove into town, to have a drink and cool off at the Blue Coyote. There was a shredder downstairs in the ranch office. He should be gone for at least another hour. That would give her plenty of time to rip those forbidden fantasies out of her notepad and shred them into sad bits of confetti.

  Raising the edge of the quilt, she thrust her arm between the mattress and the box spring. Her groping fingers found the manila envelope that held the notepad. Stretching, she clasped the edge and pulled it free.

  Her hand shook as she unfastened the clasp. It was just dawning on her what a dangerous thing she’d done. She should have destroyed the pages after writing them—or better yet, she should have kept her erotic dreams in her head and never written them down at all.

  The notepad slid out of the envelope and into her lap. She stared at it, her whole body breaking out in a cold sweat. A wave of nausea washed over her, followed by a surge of panic.

  The notepad was blank, the damning pages torn away.

  “Is this what you’re looking for, Vivian?”

  Her gaze jerked toward the open door. Outlined by the light from the hallway, Hunter stood on the threshold. His fist clutched a wad of crumpled pages. “Tonight I called you a slut,” he said in a low, quiet voice that was more terrifying than a shout. “You’re worse than a slut. You’re a whore. But you’re my whore, and nobody’s going to take you away from me. Will Tyler learned that the hard way.”

  Vivian struggled to slow her careening thoughts. What had Hunter just said? Had he been the one who’d killed Will?

  She forced herself to speak. “When did you find those papers, Hunter? They were mine. You had no business taking them.”

  “A while ago. And I can take anything I want to in this house. When I first read these—” He shook his fist, crushing the pages tighter. “When I read what that sick bastard Tyler was doing with my wife—my wife—I wanted to kill him, and you, too. But no, I came to my senses. I decided to have it out with him—tell him to leave my woman the hell alone. I called him, but the housekeeper told me he’d gone to town. That was when I realized that talking to him wouldn’t be enough. I was a man. I had the right to satisfy my honor.”

  Would that satisfaction include killing her, too? Vivian remembered the loaded pistol that Hunter kept in the drawer of the nightstand. If she could get to it, she might at least be able to save her own life.

  “In some countries, you’d get stoned to death,” Hunter said. “Lucky for you, we live in a civilized society.”

  “Listen to me, Hunter,” she pleaded. “Those things you read, they weren’t real. They were made up, like a story I was writing. Will never touched me except to shake hands. Yes, I was attracted to him. But he barely knew I existed. You killed an innocent man!”

  “You’re a lying whore!” He took a step toward her, letting the papers fall to the floor. Vivian edged along the side of the bed, toward the nightstand.

  “When I thought of you and that bastard together, I wanted to kill you, too. But then I read what you wrote again, and I knew I wanted to do those things to you myself. I wanted to thrill you like he did. I wanted to make you scream and yowl like a cat in heat—like you’ve never done with me.”

  Vivian edged closer to the nightstand. “Please don’t kill me, Hunter,” she begged, stalling for time. “I’m your wife. I’ll never tell anybody what you did.”

  “Shut up! Now that your boy’s not around to protect you, I can do anything I want. Keep me happy, and I might not kill you—or again, I might. But I can promise you one thing. You’re never going to cheat on me again! Now get your clothes off!”

  The drawer was inches away. Hunter wasn’t armed, but he was strong and fast. If she didn’t move like lightning, he could grab the gun or even strangle her with his bare hands.

  She reached for the drawer handle, but not fast enough.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped, instantly alert.

  “My—that gel I use. I’ve been dry lately . . . I thought—”

  “Forget that. I said, get your clothes off.”

  Desperate, she tried another tack. “Fine. But if you really want to do what’s on those papers, we have to start slow.” Willing her hands not to shake, she unbuttoned her shirt and slid her bra straps off her shoulders. The breasts that tumbled out were full and ripe. She’d always been proud of her beautiful breasts. “Suck my tits,” she whispered. “Suck me like a baby. You’ll see what it does to me, and to you.”

  He dropped partway to his knees and buried his face against one breast. Lying back, she held his head there, pushing him into her softness to cover his eyes. His mouth was hard, hurting her. But she moaned and squirmed against him, pretending to like it while her free hand crept toward the drawer and pulled it open. Her heart slammed as her fingers closed around the grip of the 9mm Glock. She had one chance. Fail, and she would be a dead woman.

  Clamping her hand around the grip, she lifted the gun from the drawer. She had it, but not at the right angle for cocking, aiming, and firing the weapon, and she didn’t dare let go to adjust her hold.

  “What the devil—?” Sensing her distraction, he jerked away and saw the gun. Before he could recover, she raised her knees and shoved him backward. He was on his feet in a flash, but the instant’s delay gave her time to cock the pistol and get both hands around the grip, police-style.

  “You bitch!” He was standing over her where she lay on her back, with the pistol pointed up at him. If he were to reach out and seize her arm, it wouldn’t take much effort to twist her aim away and take the gun. There was only one way she could save herself.

  Vivian pulled the trigger.

  The shot echoed off the walls of the room. A look of surprise flashed across Hunter’s face. He reeled, staggered, and went down. Blood flowed from the wound in his side, soaking into the white rug.

  He was alive but too badly wounded to get up. She knew better than to shoot him again. The police would question that. But she was no nurse and certainly no hero. Grabbing the pillow off the bed, she pressed it against the wound. “Hold it tight if you want to live,” she said. “I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  With icy calm, possibly from shock, she picked up the bedside phone and dialed 911. “This is Mrs. Cardwell at the old Prescott Ranch,” she told the dispatch operator. “I’ve just shot my husband in self-defense. . . . Yes, he’s alive, but he’s losing a lot of blood. Yes, I’ve put pressure on the wound, but you’ll need to send an ambulance. Oh—and call Sheriff Harger. Tell him that Hunter Cardwell just confessed to murdering Will Tyler.”

  After ending the call, Vivian pulled up her bra and buttoned her shirt. Then she picked up the pages Hunter had dropped and carried them downstairs to the shredder.

  * * *

  The distant wail of sirens woke Erin in the darkness. She stirred in Luke’s ar
ms, pulled away, and sat up in bed.

  “What is it?” He opened his eyes, instantly alert.

  “Listen,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

  He sat up, listening beside her. “They don’t sound close. And they don’t seem to be getting closer. Maybe something’s going on at the syndicate ranch.”

  “What if it’s a fire? It could spread.” Erin remembered the terrible wildfires of a few years ago, especially the one that had nearly destroyed the Rimrock.

  He kissed her cheek. “What do you say I go out on the porch and have a look?”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Stay here,” he said. “Do you want to cause a scandal?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. Rose isn’t fooled, and it’s nobody else’s business that I’m out here with you.”

  “Just stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  Wrapping his hips in a towel, he opened the front door of the duplex and stepped out onto the porch. Erin waited, hugging her knees in the bed. Spending the night with Luke, loving him, then drifting off to sleep with her naked body spooned against his, was her idea of heaven. But it was only a temporary heaven. A world of thorny challenges and heartbreaking decisions waited for her beyond the door of this safe little room.

  She remembered the words she’d said to Luke, telling him that he could leave anytime, as long as he didn’t come back. She’d forced herself to say those words, as much for herself as for him. But the truth was, she had never wanted anything more desperately than she wanted to keep him. She wanted him by her side for life, as her partner, her husband, and the father of her children. But if it turned out that he loved his freedom more than he loved her, she would never force him to stay.

  After a few minutes on the porch, he came back inside and locked the door behind him. “No fire,” he said. “I didn’t even smell smoke. But I did hear sirens, and I may have seen flashing lights headed for the syndicate place. I couldn’t be sure. They were too far off. But whatever’s going on, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with us.”