Hideout at Whiskey Gulch

by Elle James

  Aubrey leaned into Matt.

  “Is there anything else we can do right now? An abandoned building we can stake out? A contact we can lean on for information?”

  Matt chuckled. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not when a little girl’s life is at risk.”

  “I’m not giving up, either.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “But after what happened this morning and now at the gas station, I’m afraid to take you with me. I’d feel much better if you stayed at the ranch.”

  Aubrey was shaking her head. “I can’t. I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. Everyone working on this has a different perspective. We see different possibilities. If I’m not there, what I might have seen in a situation could be the one thing that leads us to the kidnappers.”

  “You have a point,” Matt sighed. “I don’t like that you aren’t safely tucked away at the ranch, but you have a point.”

  He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his in a brief kiss.

  HIDEOUT AT WHISKEY GULCH

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Elle James

  Elle James, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or ellejames.com.

  Books by Elle James

  Harlequin Intrigue

  The Outriders Series

  Homicide at Whiskey Gulch

  Hideout at Whiskey Gulch

  Declan’s Defenders

  Marine Force Recon

  Show of Force

  Full Force

  Driving Force

  Tactical Force

  Disruptive Force

  Mission: Six

  One Intrepid SEAL

  Two Dauntless Hearts

  Three Courageous Words

  Four Relentless Days

  Five Ways to Surrender

  Six Minutes to Midnight

  Ballistic Cowboys

  Hot Combat

  Hot Target

  Hot Zone

  Hot Velocity

  SEAL of My Own

  Navy SEAL Survival

  Navy SEAL Captive

  Navy SEAL to Die For

  Navy SEAL Six Pack

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Matt Hennessey—Former marine and town bad boy, now half owner of the Whiskey Gulch Ranch.

  Aubrey Blanchard—Home health-care nurse starting her life over in Whiskey Gulch.

  Trace Travis—Former Delta Force who shares his inheritance with his father’s bastard son.

  Lily Davidson—Girl from the wrong side of the tracks, tainted by her parents’ choices in life and in love with the only man she couldn’t have. Working as a ranch hand on the Whiskey Gulch Ranch.

  Irish Monahan—Former Delta Force soldier who left active duty to make a life out of the line of fire.

  Levi Warren—Former Delta Force, left active duty to join Trace and the Outriders, seeking justice for all.

  Rosalynn Travis—Trace’s mother, recently widowed.

  Rodney Morrison—Whiskey Gulch real estate agent.

  Sloan Richards—Whiskey Gulch sheriff.

  Dallas Jones—Former US Army military police, working as a deputy sheriff in Whiskey Gulch.

  I finished this book on Mother’s Day, missing my mom and my children. My husband and I decided to go to Colorado for a week to enjoy the mountains and the cooler and drier temperatures. It’s beautiful here, and I know my mother and children would have loved to be here with me.

  I’ve been blessed to have a wonderful mother who showed me how to love and also how to be independent. She was my friend, my confidant and my strongest supporter. My children are grown now, and I’m blessed by each of them. They are all individuals, strong and beautiful. I loved them from before the day they were born and even more now that they are my best friends.

  This book is dedicated to my mother and my children. I love you all so very much.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Witness by Nichole Severn

  Chapter One

  “Here’s the last of what we had on your mother’s case.” Sheriff Richards slapped a box marked Evidence on the desk and straightened. “Now, if you don’t need anything else from me, I’m late for dinner with my daughter. His brow dipped and he planted his hands on his hips. “Since she learned how to tell time, she doesn’t let me off without a firm reprimand.”

  Matthew Hennessey’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “Like father, like daughter?”

  The sheriff nodded. “She may look like her mother, God bless her—” he jabbed a thumb toward his chest “—but she’s every bit as stubborn as her dad.”

  “Go,” Matt said. “And thanks for digging into this case.”

  “It’s the least we could do. I was on the initial investigation back when your mother was found. There just wasn’t a lot to go on. There didn’t seem to be a motive. So many people in town loved her. She was always helping others. All we could think of was that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Matt nodded his head. “But out in the middle of a rancher’s field?”

  “Not far from where she lived. We didn’t find any tracks indicating she’d been taken there by a vehicle. Nor did we find any drag marks in the dirt as if she’d been killed at or near her home and then dragged out into the field. It was if she’d gone there on her own and someone shot her there.”

  Matt frowned at the thought of his mother out at night, alone in a rancher’s field. “The ballistics report on the bullet they pulled out showed that she was hit by a bullet from a .45 caliber weapon.”

  The sheriff nodded. “We checked the registered weapons in the county. Everyone we know who owns a .45 had an alibi.”

  “The owners might have bad friends who ‘borrowed’ their guns, though. And I’m sure, the registered guns aren’t really the ones you had to worry about,” Matt said.

  “Right. It was the ones that weren’t registered we couldn’t account for.” The sheriff sighed. “I wish we had more for you.”

  “Me too,” Matt said. “I want to know what happened.”

  “I understand. If you need anything else, or find something we missed, don’t hesitate to contact me. If I’m not available, contact Deputy Jones. I let her know you were looking into your mother’s case.”

  “Thanks.” Matt ran a hand through his hair and stretched the kinks out of his back. “Do you mind if I stay awhile?”

  “Not at all. No one uses this office, unless they have a long report to write. Things are pretty quiet now, so I don’t anticipate anyone needing the space anytime soon.” The sheriff
gave him a two-fingered salute. “Gotta go.”

  “That’s right. Your daughter is waiting.” Matt gave the man a chin lift and focused on the documents in front of him.

  Four hours later, the sun had gone down and Matt’s belly rumbled. He’d worked through dinner. Not that he had any plans for the meal, but four hours was long enough. In that time, he’d read every word of the depositions, deputies’ reports and the state crime lab’s detailed analyses of the evidence processed. The medical examiner’s report had been the hardest to go over.

  His mother had been shot point-blank in the chest, dying instantly. She’d been left in that field until a rancher had noticed turkey vultures flying over her body. He’d gone out to investigate, thinking it might be one of his cows. By the time the man had found Lynn Hennessey, she’d been dead at least two days.

  Matt rubbed a hand over his face. Should he head to his apartment over his auto repair shop in town or go out to the Whiskey Gulch Ranch, where he’d moved some of his things into a spare bedroom there?

  Matt shook his head. He still couldn’t believe he was equal owner of one of the largest and most profitable ranches in Texas, and that he no longer had to work for a living. He had enough money from his father’s estate he never had to work another day in his life, other than to keep the ranch running and profitable.

  All the years he’d never known who his father was, the man had lived in the same small town where he’d grown up.

  All the damned years.

  His mother hadn’t breathed a word.

  Matt might never have discovered his heritage if his mother hadn’t died prematurely. His father wouldn’t have known of his existence. It all had to do with the letter she’d left with her lawyer, informing James Travis that he’d had a son from their short relationship. If his father hadn’t learned of his bastard son before being killed, he would have left his entire estate to his legitimate son, Trace Travis. Instead, he’d left everything to both sons to share equally.

  Though he still had vehicles to repair, Matt preferred staying out at the ranch, where the peace and quiet helped him sleep better. Not that Whiskey Gulch was a bustling city with major traffic noise keeping people awake at all hours. But there was the occasional hot rod vehicle cruising down Main Street, mufflers rumbling loudly.

  Matt had always dreamed of having a few acres to get lost on. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought he’d own so much.

  It wasn’t that he needed to possess anything that had belonged to his father. He would happily have sold his share to his half brother. But his father had bequeathed his entire estate to his two sons. If one of the half brothers wanted out of the ranch, the entire ranch would be sold off and they’d split the proceeds. To keep the property in the family, the ranch had to remain intact and they had to learn to work together. They were doing that, too, and not just concerning the land. With other former military, they’d begun a protective and investigative force that helped victims when law enforcement couldn’t quite keep up or provide protection. They’d begun calling themselves “The Outriders.” So far, the coalition consisted of Matt, Trace and Irish Monahan, all trained combatants. Soon they’d be joined by others, as they expanded their reach and capabilities.

  Matt stacked the documents in a neat pile on the desk, stood and stretched the stiffness out of his muscles. He should have gotten up hours ago to get the blood flowing.

  His cell phone buzzed where he’d left it lying on the desk. The caller ID indicated Rosalynn Travis, his stepmother. That word still stuck in his craw. He picked up the phone and answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hey, Matthew.” Rosalynn was one of the nicest humans Matt had ever encountered, which made it hard for him to hate her. In fact, he liked her tremendously, which gave him twinges of guilt when he thought about the mother he’d loved. And she always called him Matthew, just like his mother had.

  Rosalynn continued, “I was just checking to see if you planned on staying at the ranch tonight.”

  “I am,” he said. “I’m leaving the sheriff’s office now.”

  “Oh, good,” she said. “Have you had dinner?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You don’t have to stop on your way to pick up something, if you don’t want to,” Rosalynn said. “I left pot roast warming in the oven. There’s a salad and a fresh pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Travis.”

  “Matthew, you don’t have to call me Mrs. Travis. Rosalynn will do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you don’t have to call me ma’am.” She laughed. “It makes me sound so old.”

  “Yes, ma’am—Mrs. Travis.” He shook his head.

  She sighed. “Don’t worry about it. We’re still getting to know each other. Be careful out tonight. Trace said there were a lot of deer alongside the highway on his way home this evening.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout,” he promised, and ended the call.

  He stopped at the front desk to let the deputy on duty know he was leaving.

  When he stepped out into the night, he looked up at the stars shining brightly overhead.

  He’d been many places when he’d been on active duty in the Marine Corps, but nowhere did the stars shine brighter than here in Texas. When a leg injury ended his career as a Marine, he’d come home.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped off the curb and mounted his motorcycle, pulled on his helmet and buckled the strap beneath his chin. Matt started the engine and twisted the throttle, giving it some gas while still in neutral. The deep rumble between his legs got his blood moving and his pulse kicking up a notch.

  He roared out of the parking lot and onto Main Street, moving slowly as he passed his auto shop, checking for anything out of place. The quiet of Whiskey Gulch was deceiving. Who would have thought anything bad could happen here? Yet, his mother had been shot to death four years ago, and the murderer had never been apprehended. He could still be in the area. He could be one of his neighbors. All the more reason not to trust anyone until he found the killer.

  * * *

  AUBREY BLANCHARD FIT the key in the lock of the cottage, twisted it and pushed the door inward. Her day had been long yet rewarding.

  As a home health care worker, she’d gone to six different houses that day to administer to the people who weren’t able to take care of themselves, or who needed a nurse to check on them once a week to draw blood or monitor their vital signs. Unlike her previous job, working in the emergency room of one of Houston’s largest hospitals, she had time to spend with each patient, listening to their worries and doing the best she could to make them comfortable. Some of them just needed human contact.

  She sighed as she entered the home she’d rented when she’d first come to Whiskey Gulch. It wasn’t really a house so much as a cottage, situated on the very edge of town. Behind it was a fenced field where cattle and horses grazed. On the days she got home early, she sat on the covered back porch and watched the sun set over the hills and thanked her lucky stars she’d found the place so quickly after applying for the home health care position she’d found online.

  Houston had all the amenities, but it didn’t have the peace and quiet Aubrey’s soul craved. For the past two months she’d lived here, she’d kept to herself when she wasn’t at work. Aubrey needed the space from others, from her own relatives and from her past.

  She bent to scoop up the mail on the floor in the entryway that had been shoved through the narrow slot in the door. Among the advertisements for an oil change and a pizza sale was a large envelope with the name of a law firm in the return address.

  Aubrey sighed. “It’s about time.” With the culmination of a yearlong process and thousands of dollars of legal fees, her divorce was final. She didn’t have to open the envelope to verify. Her attorney had called a week ago, letting her know of the ruling and t
hat the documents would be coming to her soon. She was a free woman.

  A deep sadness filled her for what was, what could have been and what was now her reality.

  She tossed the ads, divorce papers and her purse on the antique dining table and headed for the kitchen. Thankfully, the house had come with furniture that had belonged to its last owner. The real estate company that had handled the rental hadn’t said a word about what had happened to the last owner. Aubrey assumed she’d died of old age. Three weeks after she’d settled in, Aubrey was corrected on her assumption. One of Aubrey’s patients had set her straight on that account. The prior owner had been murdered four years ago.

  When Aubrey had heard that bit of news, she’d taken it with a grain of salt. The old woman who’d told her about the owner’s murder was suffering from dementia and didn’t recognize her own children.

  When she’d had a day off, Aubrey had looked the story up on the internet, then gone to the local library and researched area newspapers that had more on the tragedy than online snippets could provide, finding Lynn Hennessey’s obituary from four years ago. She went on to locate the article about her death, and how she’d been found in the field not far from her home, shot once in the chest.

  Aubrey’s belly had knotted. Had she wanted to get out of her lease agreement on the cottage, she was pretty certain the courts would be on her side. Keeping something as significant as murder from a potential renter had to be grounds for backing out of a contract. By that time, she’d been in the cottage for almost a month. Nothing strange had happened to make her feel unsafe, and the rent was dirt cheap... For a reason. Aubrey had decided the risk was worth it. Since leaving her husband, moving to a new town and establishing a residence, she didn’t have a lot of money to burn. So the previous owner had been murdered and the killer hadn’t been caught, according to the news article. That didn’t mean all occupants of the cottage were destined to be killed.

  Armed with the knowledge of Lynn Hennessey’s death, Aubrey didn’t take any chances. Every night before she went to sleep, she checked all the window and door locks. Not comfortable with guns, Aubrey kept on her nightstand a can of wasp spray capable of shooting bug-killing chemicals up to a distance of ten feet. Anyone who tried to attack her in her own home would get the spray full in the face. She didn’t want to kill anyone, just incapacitate potential murderers until she could get far enough away to avoid injury or death.