Cowboy Swagger

by Joanna Wayne

  “It won’t involve you,” Dylan said. “I can handle this on my own. I’ve already explained all I know to the sheriff. I just wanted you to know what’s going on.”

  “Sheriff Glenn McGuire?”

  “Afraid so. I think he’s a fixture in Mustang Run.”

  “One that should have been replaced and junked years ago. How about starting at the beginning and telling me how and where you stumbled upon this crime?”

  Dylan joined him at the table, though he’d have preferred to stand and occasionally pace. He’d been diagnosed with ADHD a few years after his mother had died. He’d supposedly outgrown the problem, but sitting still when his mind was going a mile a minute remained a challenge for him.

  Dylan went over the details, leaving nothing out. By the time he’d finished, the situation seemed far more confusing than it had last night.

  Troy worried a small glass saltshaker that had been left on the table from the night before. “If the stalker knew as much about Collette as his calls indicated, then he surely wouldn’t have mistaken Eleanor Baker for her.”

  “That’s just one of the factors that don’t make sense.”

  “What are the others?”

  “Motivation for breaking and entering and assaulting the friend of someone you claim is your soul mate.”

  “I’m sure Glenn McGuire is way ahead of you on that.”

  No doubt. Dylan sipped the hot brew while he tried to refit the puzzle in his mind. “It’s possible the perpetrator wasn’t Collette’s stalker,” he said, thinking out loud. “The man might have been after Eleanor.”

  Troy leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “Or it could have been just a random attack of violence. But you said Eleanor had regained consciousness. She may be able to clear this up.”

  “Hopefully soon, but last I heard she was too woozy from pain meds and too weak to question. What worries me most is if the man who’s been making the harassing phone calls to Collette is responsible for the attack, he is one sick bastard.”

  “Or just a normal man who snapped,” Troy said. “It happens.”

  The same way people said it had happened with Troy when he’d killed Dylan’s mother. “I don’t agree that normal people just snap into violence,” Dylan said, needing to get that much off his chest. “Losing control is just another form of cop-out. But if Collette’s stalker is guilty of the attack, then Collette is in real danger.”

  “Her father’s the sheriff. I’m sure he realizes that and has the resources to keep her safe until the nutcase is apprehended.”

  Meaning Collette wasn’t Dylan’s responsibility. He got that. It didn’t do much for relieving the anxiety that was eating away at him now.

  “I’ll get some more coffee,” Dylan said, needing a break. He took their mugs to the counter and refilled both of them.

  Troy hunched over his cup. “Tell me exactly what the sheriff said when he questioned you alone, Dylan. Word for word or as close as you can remember it.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. Most of the questions were redundant and a waste of time.”

  “He was hoping you’d mutter something he could use against you.”

  “I’m not a suspect, Dad. He might wish I was, but he’s got nothing on me.”

  “Don’t underestimate Glenn McGuire. Did he question you about your reasons for being at Collette’s?”

  “Yeah, and he clearly didn’t like that his daughter was mixed up with a Ledger.”

  “Did he ask about your personal life?”

  “For an hour, but other than a couple of speeding tickets, I’m clean as a whistle. Besides, if there’s any doubt about me in the sheriff’s mind, Eleanor will clear that up as soon as she can talk.”

  Any question of his guilt was a nonissue in Dylan’s mind, but Troy was growing increasingly agitated. The muscles in his bare arms bunched as if he were about to slug someone.

  “Get a lawyer, Dylan. Today. Before the sheriff comes calling with more questions.”

  “There’s no call for me to get lawyered up. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Guilt or innocence doesn’t matter to McGuire. He makes his own rules. The evidence is what he says it is. Take my word for it. You need an attorney.”

  His father’s reaction was too intense for this to just be about last night. It had to track back to Troy’s experiences. Was he convinced that the sheriff had built a murder case against him when no evidence existed?

  If so, his anger and frustration were justified.

  “You need an experienced attorney who’s on top of his game,” Troy said. “I’ll ask Able Drake. He’ll know who’s who in the legal world.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t afford that kind of counsel. And I don’t need it. If anything, I’m the hero here. I may have frightened off the attacker before he finished the job of killing Eleanor and then waited around for Collette.”

  He could tell by the look on his father’s face that he wasn’t convinced by Dylan’s logic.

  Troy pushed back from the table. “At least give it some thought. Now, how about some bacon and eggs?”

  “That, I could use.”

  His father broke some eggs into a bowl while Dylan peeled the bacon from the package and fit it into the frying pan. He surveyed the refrigerator and found butter and blackberry preserves.

  Whoever Able Drake was, he’d done a good job of getting the cupboard stocked and the house ready. If it turned out Dylan needed an attorney, he’d keep Able in mind. But he didn’t expect to need one.

  “Did the sheriff give you any warnings, like not to leave the state or the county until he gave you clearance?” Troy asked, obviously not quite ready to drop the subject.

  “Only one, and it was more an order than a warning.”

  “What was that?”

  “Stay away from his daughter.”

  COLLETTE’S BROTHER grabbed a hot biscuit from the pan his wife had just taken from the oven, juggling it until it was cool enough to handle. He took the seat that was catty-corner from Collette at the table. “Did you eat, Sis?”

  “No. My stomach would rebel.”

  “You look worn. You should go back to bed and catch a few more z’s.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Exhaustion won’t help anyone.”

  “You couldn’t have gotten much sleep yourself. You were still up when I arrived during the wee hours of the morning.”

  “I’d been asleep. Dad talked to Brent when you two left the hospital. He called here and wanted me to make sure you got here safely and didn’t leave again.”

  “Good old Dad.”

  “He doesn’t want you seeing Dylan Ledger again. I agree. Stay away from him.”

  Alma joined them in the kitchen, still in her robe but with her bobbed brown hair combed and her make-up on. “Bill, do you have lunch money for Georgia? The smallest bill I have is a twenty.”

  “I gave her enough for the week on Monday.”

  “She had to pay for some supplies she needed for art class.”

  “Lunch money is for lunch.”

  “And while you’re at it, I need money for Sukey.”

  “The cleaning woman’s fees are supposed to come out of your household budget.”

  Alma went to the pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice and poured herself a glass, ignoring his complaints. Bill pulled out his wallet and divvied up the money, ones for Georgia, twenties for Alma to pay Sukey. He was dressed impeccably, blue-striped suit and silk tie in a muted pattern, standard attire for the insurance company he owned and managed in Mustang Run.

  “Thanks for letting me barge in on you in the middle of the night,” Collette said.

  “Glad to have you,” Alma said. “The extra bedroom is yours for as long as you want it.”

  “I appreciate that.” Actually she’d already stayed as long as she wanted. It wasn’t that she had issues with her brother. It was more that they weren’t from the same planet. He was
all about rules and routine and handing out advice. Not as adamant as their father was, but enough so that Collette with her free-spirited approach to life was never totally in her comfort zone at his house.

  She liked Alma, but there was a disconnect factor there, as well. On the other hand, Collette absolutely adored her niece. Georgia was not only intelligent and outgoing, she was energetic and upbeat.

  “I’m playing tennis at the country club this morning,” Alma said. “Why don’t you join us, Collette? The exercise and fresh air will do you good. I mean, if there’s nothing you can do for your friend who was attacked.”

  “I need to clean my kitchen.”

  Alma made a face. “You don’t want to clean up blood. If I ask, I’m sure Sukey can fit you in this week. I have a key to your house that I can let her use. That way you can put last night’s incident behind you.”

  Last night’s “incident,” as if Eleanor’s near-fatal assault was a spilled drink or a bit of vomit that had soaked into the carpet.

  Georgia picked that minute to walk into the kitchen, her school backpack slung over one shoulder. She tossed it onto an empty chair. “Good. You’re awake, Aunt Collette.” She gave Collette a quick hug. “Dad told me about what happened when he got me up for school. You must be bummed to the max.”

  “To the max,” Collette agreed.

  “I’m really sorry. Was the woman who was attacked the woman you were going to meet when I saw you after school yesterday?”

  “She was.”

  “Dad said Grandpa will get the man who attacked her.”

  Collette wondered what else her brother had told Georgia about the attack. He hadn’t wanted to tell her anything, but Collette had persuaded him that it was better coming from one of them than from the kids at school. News of violence traveled fast in a tight-knit community like Mustang Run.

  “It’s okay if you can’t take me shopping this week,” Georgia said, “but I hope you can make the party on Saturday.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Are you afraid that man might break into your house again? Is that why you’re staying with us?”

  Bill brushed a crumb from the front of his shirt. “Stop bugging your aunt, Georgia. Grab you lunch money and your book bag and I’ll give you a lift to school.”

  Georgia gave Collette another quick hug and her mother a peck on the cheek before following Bill to the car.

  “She’s a good kid,” Collette said.

  “But impressionable,” Alma added. “The less she hears about the brutality the better. I know she’ll question you, but—”

  “I never planned to go into the gritty details with her,” Collette interrupted, irritated that Alma might think she would. “I’m going to get dressed and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Her cell phone rang as she started back to the guest room. Melinda’s name came up on the caller ID. Collette ducked into the room and closed the door before taking the call.

  “I’m glad you called,” Collette said. “Have you heard from Eleanor this morning?”

  “I just got off the phone with Mrs. Baker. She said they’ll be taking Eleanor into surgery any minute. I offered to come up and sit with Mrs. Baker, but she said it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Is Eleanor talking?”

  “Very little. Her mother says she’s still confused about what happened to her. The doctor thinks it’s likely due to the pain medication.”

  “I’m sure my father is driving them crazy wanting to question her about the attack.”

  “Your father is the real reason I called. Can you give him a message for me? He gave me his cell-phone number, but I can’t remember what I did with it.”

  “Sure. What’s the message?”

  “I located the two articles he asked about.”

  “What articles?”

  “Ones that Eleanor wrote about the Ledger murder and trial. I can fax them to him if he’ll give me a fax number.”

  Collette sank to the bed. “My father called you this morning to ask about those?”

  “Yes, but I don’t mind. I told him that I want to help find the man who tried to kill Eleanor in any way I can.”

  Collette’s stomach churned. How dare he do this? “The Ledgers have nothing to do with last night’s attack on Eleanor.”

  “I hope you’re right, but with Dylan’s being there and Troy Ledger just getting out of prison, I can see why Sheriff McGuire wants to check this out.”

  So could Collette, and a surge of anger whipped though her like a riled rattlesnake.

  “I’ll give Dad the message, Melinda.”

  When they broke the connection, Collette yanked a pair of jeans and a teal-blue pullover sweater from the duffle she’d thrown together last night. She dressed quickly, gave her disheveled mass of hair a couple of careless brushes and tinged her lips with gloss.

  “Where are you going in such a rush?” Alma asked when Collette passed her in the hallway.

  “To pay a visit to Dylan Ledger. Be sure and tell my father that if he calls.”

  Chapter Six

  It was just after eight in the morning when Dylan stepped out the back door. The sky was cloudless, and already the sun was warm on his back. He walked toward the old storage building just behind the garage.

  Mockingbirds were having a lively banter in the branches of the mulberry tree just past the back steps. A spattering of weedy yellow wildflowers he couldn’t name dotted the pasture that stretched into the distance.

  It was a typical, serene pastoral scene, but the thoughts playing havoc with Dylan’s mind were anything but tranquil. Collette McGuire was at the center of his mental chaos. He wasn’t sure if her stalker had anything to do with the attack, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in danger.

  The good sheriff didn’t want Dylan anywhere near his daughter. Not that Dylan would lose sleep over what Glenn McGuire wanted. He would stay away from Collette, but only because she didn’t need him. The sheriff was a hotheaded, arrogant blowhard, but he was in the perfect position to protect Collette.

  Dylan would only bring complications and excess baggage to the table. The murderer’s kid all over again. Obviously, some things never changed.

  Standing around stressing over a situation he could do nothing about wasn’t helping, either, he told himself. He might as well take a drive around the ranch and see what kind of work his father was looking at if he actually planned to get the spread up and running again.

  Not that his father had asked for or given any indication that he wanted Dylan’s input. He’d left while Dylan was in the shower with not so much as a scribbled note as to where he was going or when he’d be back.

  Before Dylan reached his truck, he heard the rumble of a vehicle bumping its way along the rutted ranch road. He recognized Collette’s Jeep the second it came into sight. A surge of unwelcome anticipation pulsated along his nerve endings.

  By the time she’d come to a complete stop, he was opening her door for her. She jumped out, eyes blazing as if she were showing up for a gunfight.

  It worried him how much he wanted to pull her into his arms. Instead he closed the door after her. “More trouble?” he asked.

  “For you.”

  He tensed a little. “Care to explain?”

  “My father’s out to get you.”

  So her concern was for him. He relaxed a little, even liking the fact that she’d gotten this fired up on his account.

  “Is he bringing his rope over to hang me?”

  “More likely his gun to shoot you in the back, and this isn’t funny, Dylan.”

  He found it amazing that she could be that angry and look that good. “I’m not amused. I’m just thankful you weren’t upset about something more serious.”

  “You don’t think involving you in a felony is serious enough?”

  “The sheriff is just blowing off steam because he doesn’t like the fact that you invited a Ledger to your house. As soon as Eleanor talks, he’ll have
to eat crow.”

  “You do not know my father. He called my friend Melinda this morning wanting her to look up some articles that Eleanor had written about your mother’s murder.”

  At least he wasn’t going around town leading the chorus of “murderer’s kid.”

  “If I went around attacking every journalist who’d ever written about our family, I’d be busy from morning until night.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “So, what is the point? That your father doesn’t like me? Big deal. That he thinks all Ledgers should be hung on general principle? He’s probably not the only one of that opinion.”

  “But he’s not just someone with an opinion. He’s the sheriff and he has no conscience when it comes to destroying people.”

  “Is this still about me? Because it sounds a lot like personal father bashing.”

  “I’m trying to warn you about him.”

  “I’m not afraid of your father, Collette.”

  “You should be.”

  He stepped to his truck and opened the passenger-side door for her. “Get in.”

  “Why? Where are we going?”

  “For a ride around the ranch and a chance for you to cool down so that we can talk about this rationally.” He stepped back. “Unless you agree with your father and you’re afraid to go off with me.”

  “If I were afraid of you, Dylan Ledger, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.” She climbed into the truck to prove her point. “But I do need to call and cancel my appointments for the day.” She pulled a day planner out of her handbag and started making calls.

  She might not be afraid of him, but he was afraid of her. Afraid of falling for a woman in a town that had spit him out years ago and showed no signs of wanting him back. He didn’t mind playing bad boy, but he wasn’t going to spend a lifetime sticking out his face just to get his teeth kicked in.

  He climbed behind the wheel. She leaned forward and her gorgeous red hair tumbled in front of her, falling over her spectacular breasts. She threw back her head and shoved a tangle of curls behind her ears. Her green eyes sparkled like fiery emeralds when she looked up to find him staring at her.