Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad BoyHe's Just a Cowboy

by Lisa Jackson

  “I don’t understand… .”

  His smile was cynical. He motioned to the report. “Read it if you want. It paints a pretty grim picture. For years I thought the police just had it in for me, that they were somehow on Fitzpatrick’s payroll, but if you read the facts objectively, you can see why I was the prime suspect. However,” he added, before draining his cup, “I’m not giving up on the bribe theory. Fitzpatrick hates my guts.”

  She looked over the reports, reading familiar names: Thomas Fitzpatrick, Brian Fitzpatrick, June Fitzpatrick, Laura Chandler Fitzpatrick, Carlie Surrett, Erik Patton, Scott McDonald, Melanie Patton and on and on. It was an incredible compilation of history.

  She finished her coffee and walked into the kitchen to grab the glass pot and return with it. As she poured coffee into Jackson’s empty cup, she glanced at him. “Does all of this help?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve discovered some interesting facts.” He grabbed her wrist as she finished pouring. His fingers caught on the tie of her robe and he gently tugged, helping the knot to loosen. “By the way, you look great.”

  She rolled her eyes and clutched her robe closed. Without makeup, her hair a tangled mess, she thought “great” was a tad overdoing it. Nonetheless his hasty compliment brought a small smile to her lips. She finished pouring and took the coffeepot back to the kitchen to heat. “What interesting facts?” she asked as she returned to her chair.

  “Erik Patton and Roy weren’t that crazy for each other. His sister, Melanie, was supposedly engaged to Roy when he took up with Laura. Melanie even tried to trap him and claim she was pregnant, but she was lying apparently.”

  Rachelle thought back to that night and Erik’s sullenness; he had seemed preoccupied, but he’d still definitely been in the Fitzpatrick corner. She remembered him laughing when Jackson, trying to flee, couldn’t start his motorcycle. Well, look what you found—Roy’s little piece… . You’re not gonna get far, he’d predicted before calling to Roy.

  “Erik thought I was Roy’s girl,” she said with a shudder.

  “Erik probably knew that Roy was using Laura to get to you. It doesn’t change the fact that there was bad blood between the two supposed best friends.” He glanced up at her and shoved his hair from his eyes impatiently. “Puts a different slant on things, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d say so.”

  They then spent the next hour going through the files, scrutinizing the secrets of Gold Creek. Melanie Patton was hired by Fitzpatrick right out of high school as a receptionist and with each passing year, she was promoted until, at the age of twenty-nine, she had become Thomas’s private secretary and administrative assistant.

  Her brother Erik, too, had been employed by the Fitzpatricks, or their relatives, the Monroes, ever since he’d dropped out of college, two months after Roy’s death.

  Rachelle took a shower, dressed, then read the private investigator’s reports until her head swam. What she read only confirmed what she already knew: Gold Creek was a small town and most of the local families had roots that went back for generations. People married, had children and watched those children grow up to marry someone in town only to start the cycle over again.

  Jackson scraped back his chair in frustration.

  “Restless?”

  “A little.”

  “Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

  He grinned. “On the motorcycle?”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t need any more encouragement. They rode through the hills, the wind pressing hard against their faces and tangling their hair. The sun was bright, casting shadows through the limbs of trees that hung over the country roads as they raced through the valleys and towns surrounding Gold Creek.

  At a small general store a few miles from the lake, they purchased sandwiches and a bottle of wine, which they took to a strip of beach on the south side of the lake. Seated on a stump near the water’s edge, they ate their lunch and watched the ducks swim on the lake. A few fishermen cast their lines into the still waters of Whitefire Lake and chipmunks, looking for a handout, scampered nervously along the shore.

  “You believe in the old Indian legend?” he asked, sitting behind her as she half lay against him.

  “I don’t know.” She remembered the first morning she’d come to the lake, how the mist was rising and how she, feeling adventurous as well as silly, had drunk from the lake. But then good fortune had come to her, hadn’t it? Just days later Jackson had returned to Gold Creek. “I’m not really superstitious.”

  “Neither am I.” He kissed the side of her head and nuzzled her neck. “I thought coming back here would be the end of my life here in Gold Creek—that I would resolve the parts of my life that were still unsettled.”

  “And have you?”

  “Not until I find Roy’s murderer and clear my name.” He climbed off the stump and kicked at a stone on the shore. “But that might not be enough, either.”

  “No?” She hopped from the stump and joined him at the edge of the lake.

  He smiled sadly and his gaze drilled into hers. “Because I didn’t count on you,” he said, frowning. “I knew you were here, of course. Hell, I planned to breeze into town, land on your doorstep and convince myself once and for all that you were nothing but a nice part of a bad memory.”

  She remembered their first meeting when he’d shown up on her doorstep and within minutes antagonized her and kissed her with a hunger that had stolen the very breath from her lungs. “But you came back.”

  “My motives weren’t very pure,” he admitted.

  “Are they ever?” she teased, her heart drumming at his confession.

  “I wanted to make love to you—as often as possible—as long as I could and I thought if I did, that I would quit fantasizing about you, that I would quit falling into the nostalgia trap of thinking something long ago was better than today. But I was wrong.” He stared deep into her eyes and drew in on his lower lip. “I didn’t know I was capable of being so wrong.”

  She couldn’t stop the elation that thundered through her blood. He was standing only inches from her, not touching her, claiming that he cared.

  “I don’t know if I can leave you,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “I came here to conquer, to prove my innocence and all I’ve proven is that I’m stupid enough to fall in love.”

  There it was—the confession hanging on the air. Tears touched the back of her eyes and she couldn’t smile because her chin was wobbling.

  “I love you, Rachelle. I think I always have.”

  With a startled cry, she flung herself into his arms and let the tears of joy flow down her cheeks. Her fingers clenched in the soft folds of his leather jacket and she sobbed openly. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say those three words,” she said. “I’ve loved you forever!”

  His arms were around her and he swung her off her feet. Her sobs gave way to laughter as the world spun around them. The lake shimmered like glass and the air was fresh with the scent of pine and musk. He kissed her face, her neck, her hair, tasting her tears and holding her so fiercely that she could barely breathe. But she didn’t care. All her worries seemed to float away and she knew that no matter what the future held, she would love Jackson forever.

  When at last he let her go, she dashed away from him and he chased after her. Startled birds flew from their path and a squirrel scolded from the upper branches of a pine tree.

  “You can’t hide from me,” Jackson warned, laughing as he bore down on her.

  “You haven’t caught me yet,” she teased, scrambling over a rock to hide in the shadows. He saw her and she started running again, but he caught up with her easily and grabbed hold of her.

  She laughed and tossed back her hair.

  “So what’re we going to do about this?” he asked, breathing as hard as she was.

  Her gaze lingered in his and her heart melted. “Do we have to do anything?”

  “
I think it’s proper to propose.”

  “And we know that above all else, Jackson, you’re proper. Right?”

  “Absolutely.” He slapped her rear playfully. “Always the gentleman.”

  “Save me,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

  “No, you save me.” He gathered her into his arms again, and in the shifting shadows of the fragrant pines, he kissed her forehead. “Marry me, Rachelle,” he whispered, and her throat clogged all over again.

  “You’re serious?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Marry me and have my children and grow old beside me.”

  Her world tilted and joy coursed through her blood. “In a heartbeat,” she whispered, pressing her anxious lips to his as his knees gave way and they dropped onto a bed of pine needles.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MRS. JACKSON MOORE. The name sounded right. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, even though she’d spent another night in Jackson’s arms and had spent hours planning their future. They hoped after a few months’ separation to be married and then she would join him in New York, where she could still write her columns.

  Things were looking up, she told herself, as she walked into the Rexall Drug Store in search of a toy for Adam. The store was as she remembered it. Paddle fans circled the air lazily overhead and a bell tinkled when the front door was opened. More than a pharmacy, the store offered everything from cookbooks to baby clothes, from cosmetics to Band-Aids, from hair dye to costume jewelry. In the toy section, Rachelle eyed several games before deciding upon a model dinosaur. After purchasing her gift at the cash register, she walked to the back of the store where an old-fashioned soda fountain offered lunch.

  Carlie’s mother, Thelma, was “tending bar” as she used to call it by whipping up a gooey concoction of chocolate, marshmallow crème, milk and ice cream in the blender. She poured the frothy mixture into a tall waxed paper cup and slid it into the eager hands of a boy of about ten or eleven who was seated on the end stool. “There ya go, Zach,” Thelma said with a wink.

  Rachelle eyed the boy, a handsome child with pale blond hair and blue eyes. He reminded her of someone she’d known in grade school, but she couldn’t remember whom until she spied the boy’s mother walking quickly through the store. “Ready to go?” Laura asked her son.

  “Sure.”

  Laura’s gaze met Rachelle’s in the mirror behind the counter. For a second, fear registered in Laura’s eyes, then she offered a cool smile. “So you’re still here,” she said, flipping a lock of blond hair over her shoulder. “I thought by now you would have had more than enough material for your articles.”

  “It takes a while,” Rachelle admitted. “I’m working on a couple of pieces, one about people who’ve moved out of Gold Creek and then come back and another about the people who’ve stayed for most of their lives.”

  “Would any of your readers really care?”

  “I hope so.”

  Laura was tugging on her son’s arm. “It’s time, Zach. Daddy’ll be home soon.”

  “I thought maybe I could talk to you,” Rachelle said, and Laura visibly started.

  “Me? I don’t think—”

  “Come on, Laura. We were friends once,” Rachelle said, and a sadness stole across Laura’s features. For a second she looked as if she might break down and cry.

  “That was a long time ago, Rachelle. We don’t even know each other anymore. Let’s go, Zach.” She tugged on the boy’s arm and he yanked it quickly away.

  “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he muttered, clutching his drink and trudging after her down an aisle that displayed wrapping paper and hundreds of greeting cards.

  “Well, now, what can I do for you?” Thelma asked, her eyes lighting up. She was still an attractive woman, though she’d gained a little weight around her middle and her short dark hair was shot with gray. “You still like cherry cokes and banana splits?”

  Rachelle’s stomach turned over at the thought, but she was in such a good mood that she wasn’t interested in counting calories, and if she had a stomachache later, so what.

  “Give me a double,” she replied with a smile.

  “Oooh, you’re a brave one.” Thelma worked quickly, scooping ice cream and adding dollops of strawberry, chocolate and pineapple sauce to a boat that was overflowing. She’d worked behind this counter for as long as Rachelle could remember, and Rachelle and Carlie had spent many a Saturday afternoon sitting on these worn stools, devouring French fries, hot-fudge sundaes and sodas until they were gorged.

  “I heard you saw Weldon,” Thelma said as she set the drink and ice cream in front of Rachelle.

  “He told you that I asked for Carlie’s address.”

  “Mmm.” Thelma wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll write it down for ya. She’s in Alaska, takin’ pictures.”

  “So she really gave up modeling?”

  “Quite a while ago.” Thelma’s lips tightened at the corners. “She ran into some trouble and she’s back on the other side of the camera now. Like she was in high school.”

  “But she’s all right?” Rachelle asked, sensing that there was more to the story.

  “She’s fine. Comin’ home later in the summer. She sure would love to see you.” Thelma scribbled Carlie’s address on the back of a receipt and ripped it off, handing the information to Rachelle.

  “I’ll write her. Maybe we can get together,” Rachelle said. She wanted to ask more questions about Carlie, but didn’t get a chance. The counter started to fill up, and Thelma and the other waitress, a girl of about nineteen, were busy. Rachelle finished half her banana split and wondered how she could have eaten a whole one when she was a teenager.

  She’d finished her drink and left money on the counter when Thelma spied her and took off her apron, announcing to the other waitress that she was taking a short break. She grabbed her sweater and walked with Rachelle through the old oak-and-glass door of the pharmacy. Outside, on the sidewalk, she said, “I know you’re getting a lot of flak from everyone around here, but I want you to know that I’m in your corner—and in Jackson Moore’s, as well. He got a bum rap way back—he didn’t have anything to do with killing that boy.”

  “I think you’re the only person in town who feels that way.”

  “It’s simple really. Jackson had nothing to gain by murdering Roy Fitzpatrick. If you ask me, and mind you no one around here wants my opinion, but I think it was someone else who held a grudge against him—someone with a bone to pick or a lot to gain.” She glanced nervously at the plate-glass window of the drugstore. “I know my opinion isn’t popular, but it’s the way I feel, the way Carlie feels.”

  “Thanks. It’s good to know we’re not completely alone.”

  “Yes, but you just be careful. You and Jackson bein’ here has stirred up a lot of folks who’d like to pretend that the whole mess never happened. And this town, God love it, can be vindictive. I’ve lived here all my life and I love Gold Creek, but sometimes…well, sometimes the town can turn on ya. It happened to Carlie, you know.”

  Rachelle’s mother had once told her that Carlie had left town suddenly, after one of the Powell boys, Kevin, had committed suicide. Some people claimed he took his life because of her; others said he was depressed because of money problems. But Carlie’s name had been blackened, as had Jackson’s.

  “When Carlie calls, tell her I want to see her,” Rachelle said, her fingers tightening over her package as she dashed across the street.

  * * *

  TIMMS WAS WAITING FOR HIM in the lobby of his hotel. The tiny man sat, eyeing the door. A cigarette was burning in the ashtray on the table next to his chair. He stood when Jackson swung through the lobby. “I thought we should talk in person.”

  Something was up. Something big. The little man was nervous and he looked as if he wanted desperately to hide.

  “Come on.” Jackson checked his messages and with Timms in tow, took the stairs. He couldn’t imagine what had set
the P.I. on edge, but maybe this whole ordeal was coming to a close. He hoped so. Because, for the first time in twelve years, he really didn’t give a damn. Sure, he’d like to clear his name, but now he had another purpose in life, another reason to live.

  Rachelle was going to be his wife. He couldn’t believe it. Jackson Moore, the self-confessed bachelor, the bad boy of Gold Creek was going to settle down with one woman. He couldn’t help smiling. No matter what Timms was going to tell him, it wouldn’t compare with the emotional high he’d been on since yesterday. They walked down the short hall, with Timms nervously looking over his shoulder as Jackson inserted the key in the door.

  Once inside, Timms locked the door behind them, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “What’s up?” Jackson asked.

  The small man met his gaze. “Sit down, Moore,” he suggested, kicking out a chair. “I think I’ve found the key to the Fitzpatrick case.”

  * * *

  RACHELLE’S MOTHER COLLAPSED into a kitchen chair. “You’re not serious,” she said, disbelieving.

  “Yes, Mom, I am. I’m going to marry Jackson.”

  Heather smiled. “Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  Ellen slashed her youngest daughter a horrified look. “You’ve certainly changed your tune.”

  “I met Jackson,” Heather said, “and…well, I saw how Rachelle was around him. Mom, it’s so obvious they love each other.” She winked at her sister and Rachelle smothered a smile. “I think Rachelle should follow her heart, do what she feels is best.”

  “You always were an incurable romantic,” Ellen whispered, reaching around the counter and pulling out the drawer where she kept her carton of cigarettes. “But you—” she looked at Rachelle beseechingly “—I always thought you had more sense.”

  “I love him,” Rachelle said.

  “Love,” Ellen muttered in a puff of blue smoke. “What’s love got to do with anything? I loved your father and he left me for a younger woman. And Harold… Well, love didn’t much enter into it.”