Homicide at Whiskey Gulch

by Elle James

  * * *

  TRACE’S ANGER BUBBLED up in his chest and threatened to spew from his mouth. He clamped his lips together and ground his teeth. He refused to blast Lily in front of his mother, who apparently thought the younger woman was an angel incarnate.

  He’d wait until he could get Lily alone to get answers from her. Not married? Part of him rejoiced at the news. The other part boiled with anger. She’d told him she was in love with Matt Hennessey, and Trace was too straitlaced for her. That had been eleven years ago. They’d been teenagers. Why couldn’t he let it go?

  Lily lifted her chin, gave Trace one last glance and turned toward his mother. “We need to get moving if you want to get to the funeral home before they close.”

  Rosalynn nodded. “You’re right.” She reached out and patted Trace’s cheek. “I’m sorry you had to come home to this. Your father was so proud of what you’d accomplished in the military. He didn’t say it to you, but he bragged about you to anyone who’d listen.” Tears welled in his mother’s eyes. “I’m glad you made it home for his funeral.”

  The knot in his gut hardened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If I had been, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “Or you could have been the target along with your father.” She shook her head. “You can’t second-guess the past. It’s done. All we can do now is move on.” She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and let it out. When her eyes opened, she was the mother he remembered, who shouldered burdens during hard times and marched forward. “I have to meet with the funeral director. You can come with me, or not. It’s up to you. I won’t judge.”

  His chest tightened. They couldn’t bring his father back, but he could be there for his mother. “I’m coming.”

  “I’ll drive,” Lily said.

  “The hel—” Trace started.

  “Trace,” his mother said with that stern expression she’d used on him when he’d been a recalcitrant child. “Lily’s been driving me since your father’s death. I feel comfortable with her behind the wheel. Let her.”

  His fists clenched, but he didn’t argue. His mother had been through enough. “Very well.”

  “Besides, it will give us a chance to talk.”

  “What vehicle are you taking?”

  “Your mother’s SUV,” Lily said.

  His mother hurried to explain. “I couldn’t bring myself to get into the truck. It was so much a part of who he was.”

  Trace shook his head. “All I knew coming home was that Dad was murdered. I got here as soon as I could. I haven’t heard all the details.”

  Lily followed Rosalynn into the house, calling out over her shoulder, “I’ll fill you in on the way. We really need to get moving.”

  Rosalynn patted Lily’s arm. “Thank you, dear. I admit to being a little disoriented lately.”

  “That’s to be understood.” Lily pulled Rosalynn in for a quick hug. “You’ve been dealt a huge blow. Losing someone you love is never easy.” She herded Trace’s mother through the house, pausing in the kitchen to cover the pot of beef stew. It could wait, uncooked.

  Rosalynn walked to a hook on the wall where a man’s suit hung, complete with a white shirt and a navy blue tie. She lifted the suit and held it against her chest. She chuckled, the sound catching on a sob. “He hated wearing suits. But he was a stickler for tradition and would have insisted on being buried in one.”

  Trace’s gut clenched. Seeing his mother’s grief brought it home like nothing else. His parents had been married for almost forty years. More than half their lives. He held out his hand. “Want me to take the suit?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve got it.”

  On their way through the house, Lily grabbed Rosalynn’s purse, looping it over her shoulder. She snagged her own and headed back out the door, brushing past Trace as she went.

  The scent of honeysuckle wafted beneath his nose. Seriously? She still used the same honeysuckle-scented shampoo as she had all those years ago?

  With the scent came a myriad of emotions and images crowding into his memories.

  Images of Lily lying with her head across his lap, staring up at the endless stars in the Texas sky all those years ago, her voice soft as she named the constellations and the planets. When a meteor streaked past, she’d close her eyes and make a wish.

  Trace would bend over and kiss her lips and she’d chuckle.

  “I got my wish,” she’d say.

  “What did you wish for?” he’d ask.

  Every time, she’d respond, “For a kiss from the guy I love.”

  That was just one of the memories pushing to the forefront of his recollections. There were so many more he’d shoved to the back of his mind to keep from going off the deep end. He’d loved Lily Davidson more than life itself. When she’d dumped him for the town bad boy, Matt Hennessey, she’d shattered his heart into a million pieces. Her announcement had been the final straw that had pushed him into leaving home and joining the army.

  His father had started him down that path by trying to dictate his life as soon as he’d graduated high school. He was supposed to stay on Whiskey Gulch Ranch and assume more responsibilities of ownership without any actual authority. His father could never release the reins enough to let his son make decisions.

  After they’d butted heads too many times to remember, Trace and his father had had a massive argument. His father didn’t think him worthy of running the ranch. He hadn’t liked Trace’s choice of a girlfriend. James Travis was a man who followed rules and laws. Lily came from a family of lawbreakers. She’d drag Trace down and hold him back in whatever he decided to do with his life. If he didn’t drop her and start towing the line on the ranch, he would have to move out and find another way to make a living.

  That was when Trace had finally realized he needed the freedom to grow into the man his father never believed he could become. He’d never be that if his father ran the show. Having had enough, he knew he would never earn his father’s respect until he’d been successful on his own. That day he’d visited an army recruiter, signed the documents and sworn into the army.

  With a week to go before he shipped out, he’d gone to Lily and asked her to wait for him. He’d explained that his next step was to go to the Military Entrance Processing Station, where he’d start the paperwork for a security clearance and go through mental and physical evaluations before he shipped out to basic combat training.

  The people performing the background checks for the security clearance might come to his hometown and ask questions of the people who knew him to gauge whether or not he could be entrusted with protecting the nation.

  That was when Lily had hit him with the news that had ripped his heart out. She’d been seeing Matt Hennessey and had fallen in love with him. She wasn’t planning on waiting for Trace to return. She wanted to get married immediately and it was to Matt she’d given her heart.

  Trace had felt like she’d punched him in the gut so hard, he couldn’t catch his breath. The woman he loved didn’t love him like he’d thought she did. When he left Whiskey Gulch, he’d have nothing to bring him back but the occasional visit with his mother.

  He’d gone into the army with a desire to prove to dear old Dad that he didn’t need his money to survive. Trace Travis could make it on his own. As far as making it on his own, he didn’t need a woman in his life to cause him more pain. Lily had crushed the life out of his heart. For the next eleven years, he would hold up her example to any woman he met and judge them based on what they had never done, but what they might do in the future.

  Trace couldn’t take another beating like he’d taken that day. He didn’t need the constant reminder with Lily living and working at Whiskey Gulch.

  He helped his mother into the front passenger seat and then climbed into the back seat of his mother’s SUV on the opposite side from Lily. His p
osition gave him a good vantage point from which to study Lily without her knowing.

  She hadn’t changed much since they were teenagers. The soft curves of her cheeks had become more defined. Her face had slimmed, and she wore her hair in a French braid instead of the ponytail he used to love pulling. She’d inherited her beauty from her mother. Thankfully, she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps.

  Brandy Jean Davidson had married Marcus Davidson when she was sixteen and got pregnant with Lily. Her parents had kicked her out of the house, convinced their oldest daughter would be a bad influence on their three younger children. Brandy Jean and Marcus’s marriage lasted only until Lily was born. Marcus wasn’t ready to settle down and take on the responsibility of raising a child. He joined a motorcycle gang and left the town of Whiskey Gulch, Texas, for California.

  Without a high school diploma and no work experience, Brandy Jean went to work at a strip club. She barely made enough money to support herself and Lily, living in a run-down trailer on the edge of town. She found she could make more money off the dance floor. Lily might not have had the best home life, but her mother had tried to insulate her from her business. She wasn’t always successful.

  Lily pulled out of the yard and headed onto the gravel road leading to the highway. Once they were on the paved road, Trace’s mother filled Trace in on what had happened. “Your father was shot while out riding fences.” Her voice broke.

  Lily reached across the console and squeezed his mother’s hand. “Want me to finish?”

  His mother nodded and swiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. “Please.”

  “Your father was hit several times. He fell from his saddle.” Lily took a deep breath. “His foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged all the way back to the barn. The sheriff said at least three rounds hit him. It wasn’t an accidental shooting. Someone was aiming at your father.”

  “When he made it home, he was conscious for only a few seconds before he passed. His foot was still caught.” His mother’s voice hitched. She stared out the front window. “I couldn’t get him down. It wasn’t until Roy returned from town that I got his foot out of the stirrup. By then the ambulance had arrived.” She swiped away a tear. “Too late for James.”

  Roy Gibson was the foreman who’d come to work for his father after Trace had joined the army.

  His mother shook her head and turned in her seat so that she could see Trace. “Your father didn’t have a chance. Someone murdered him.”

  Rage burned inside him. Though he’d had his differences with his father, he’d never stopped loving him. Unclenching his fist, he reached over the back of the seat and touched his mother’s shoulder. “I’ll find the bastard who killed him,” Trace vowed.

  “We’ll find him,” Lily corrected.

  Too angry to argue, Trace let her comment pass.

  His mother laid her hand over his. “It won’t bring him back.”

  “No, but the killer can’t get away with what he’s done,” Lily said.

  “He has to be caught,” Trace said. “He’s killed once. If he’s not held accountable for what he’s done, what’s to keep him from killing again?”

  Chapter Three

  What was to keep the killer from killing again? The thought roiled around in Lily’s mind along with the fact Trace was sitting behind her in the same vehicle. She’d never expected to be this close to the man again. After she’d dumped him so brutally all those years ago, she didn’t think he’d want to be in the same breathing space with her.

  His father’s death had taken precedence over any revenge or avoidance dance concerning her. For all she knew, he might not be giving her a second thought. Eleven years was a long time to forgive and forget.

  Lily hadn’t forgotten one thing about Trace. He was still the man she’d fallen in love with. She hadn’t met another who could take his place. From what she could get out of his mother without asking point-blank, Trace hadn’t married, nor had he brought a significant other home to meet the parents.

  “What happened to all the ranch hands who worked for Dad?” Trace asked. “And where’s Roy, your foreman?”

  “Since your father was murdered,” Lily said, “rumors have gone around the community that Whiskey Gulch Ranch has been targeted, and anyone having anything to do with the ranch could be murdered as well.”

  “Roy had an accident a few days ago,” Trace’s mother said. “His brakes failed. He blew through a stop sign in town and smashed into a tree to avoid hitting a family in a minivan. He suffered a damaged foot. He wanted to come back to work right away, but I told him to wait at least a week to keep it up and give himself time to start healing.”

  Lily picked up from there. “After Roy’s accident happened, the ranch hands quit outright or called in sick, indefinitely. Some said their families had been threatened.”

  “Who’s been taking care of the animals?” Trace asked.

  “You’re looking at us,” his mother said. “If not for Lily, I don’t know how I would have managed.”

  “So far, we’ve only been able to care for the horses, cattle and smaller livestock near the house and barn,” Lily said. “We don’t know what’s going on farther out. If someone is threatening the ranch hands, what else are they doing that we haven’t seen?”

  “As soon as we’re back from the funeral home, I’ll ride the fences,” Trace said.

  “You can’t go alone,” his mother said. “You need someone to watch your back.”

  “I don’t need help,” Trace insisted. “I work better when I don’t have to worry about others.”

  His mother shook her head. “You’re taking one of us or you’re not going at all.”

  Lily glanced at Trace in the mirror, a smile tugging her lips.

  His mother had used the tone she’d used when she’d been talking to the younger version of Trace so many years ago. She’d always made him go with his father or with a friend, insisting on a buddy system to keep from being stranded out in the middle of the ranch with no way of getting back or sending anyone for help.

  “Mom, I can take care of myself,” Trace said. “Besides, if one of you goes with me, the other is left exposed to whoever is trying to sabotage the ranch.”

  “Going out on the ranch alone got your father killed,” his mother said. “I don’t know what I’d do if you were targeted next. You can’t go out alone.”

  “I’m going to pick up Roy from the hospital tomorrow,” Lily said. “He can stay with your mother at the house while you and I check the fences and start the search for your father’s killer. Your mother will be safer at home.”

  “I don’t need anyone to ride shotgun with me,” he said.

  “If you don’t take Lily, I’ll send her out after you anyway,” his mother said. “Now, quit arguing. You’re making my head hurt.”

  “And we’re here,” Lily pointed out as they rolled through town and came to a stop in front of the funeral home. She parked in the lot at the side of the building and climbed down.

  Trace got out and opened his mother’s door.

  Rosalynn sat for a long moment staring straight ahead, clutching the suit, without moving.

  Trace touched her arm. “I can meet with the funeral director. You can stay in the car.”

  She shook her head and turned. “No. I have to face this sooner or later.” With a deep breath, she accepted Trace’s arm and let him help her out of the vehicle.

  Lily’s heart hitched in her chest. James Travis had made it clear from the moment Trace brought Lily home to meet his parents that he didn’t approve of Trace dating her. Though Trace hadn’t mentioned it, she knew from the grapevine that he’d had a major argument with his father over her. Shortly afterward, he’d announced he was thinking about joining the army to get the hell out of Whiskey Gulch and away from his father.

  Lily had never wanted to come b
etween Trace and his father. That their argument had escalated to the point Trace felt it necessary to leave Whiskey Gulch Ranch meant his father had given him an ultimatum.

  She understood the senior Travis’s reservations about Trace dating her. Everyone in the county knew who she was, and more important, who her mother was. On more than one occasion, Trace had stepped between Lily and someone who thought that because she was Brandy Jean’s daughter that her body was for sale as well.

  Trace had a couple of scars to show for his interference. Lily had been grateful he’d been there to help, but she’d gotten good at defending herself. As soon as she could navigate the internet, she’d studied Krav Maga. When she was old enough to drive, she’d taken lessons in the art of self-defense from a retired Delta Force soldier. Trace had found out and insisted on taking her to and from her lessons. Lily hadn’t been surprised to learn Trace had gone into Delta Force. He’d been impressed by retired Sergeant Major Ketchum, or Ketch, as his students were allowed to address him.

  Mrs. Travis led the way into the funeral home, holding her son’s arm.

  The funeral director met them in the lobby. “Mrs. Travis, thank you for coming today. And thank you for bringing Mr. Travis’s clothing.” He took the suit and held out a hand, taking hers into his grasp for a long moment. Then he released her hand and turned to Trace. “Trace, it’s good to see you back in town.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Miller,” Trace said and shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss and grateful that you were able to get here so quickly to be with your mother in your time of loss.” The funeral director released his hand and stood taller. “Thank you for your service to our country. Your father must have been so proud of you.”