by Joanna Wayne
“I told your deputy all I know.”
“He said you were mighty cooperative. I appreciate that. Your quick action impressed the hell out of him, yelling at people to get down and then throwing yourself on top of the kid.”
“I saw the gun. The rest was all reflexes.”
“Good reflexes. Did you ever work in law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll bet you’re a good athlete.”
“Not particularly.”
“What do you do for a living?”
Grace looked down at her hands and hesitated before answering. “I was an office manager in my last job.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m currently unemployed. There have been a lot of layoffs in Houston since the price of crude oil plunged.”
“Yep. Hurting folks all over the state. So you’re just visiting Esther between jobs?”
“I’m passing through. Esther sprained her ankle, so I stayed a few days to help out.”
Grace hadn’t exactly lied, but she had made it seem that she and Esther had been friends before the sprained ankle. Pierce knew now that wasn’t the case.
The waitress showed up with their coffees and Sheriff Cavazos waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “Did you get a good look at the shooter?”
“No. I explained all that to your deputy. The car was speeding down the street. All I saw was the weapon.”
“And you’re not certain if this was the same car you’d seen a few minutes earlier on the street.”
“They were both black. That’s really all I know.”
The sheriff took a pen from his pocket and clicked it. “I’ll need your full name—for the records.”
Again she hesitated and reached for her coffee, sipping slow before answering. “Grace Ann Addison,” she said, her voice low and her gaze downcast.
“Can I see your driver’s license?”
She spread her hands palm down on the table. “I don’t have it with me.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s back at the Double K Ranch, in the glove compartment of my car. I wasn’t driving today, so I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“No problem. I can get that from you later. I do need your permanent address and your social security number.”
“I don’t actually have a current home address. I’m relocating from Houston to Albuquerque.”
“I see. Then give me your social security number and a phone number where I can reach you.”
She rattled off the numbers.
Cavazos took another sip of coffee and wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “At least the timing was good for your visit to Esther. She’s had a real rough time of it since Charlie died. It hit her hard. She’s starting to concoct and believe crazy conspiracy theories.”
“Esther is still grieving, but she seems perfectly sane to me,” Grace said.
“I assume you’re talking about her thinking Charlie was murdered and that nothing’s being done about it,” Pierce said. “That’s what I had planned to talk to you about before the shooting canceled our appointment.”
“I was afraid of that,” Cavazos said. “Esther keeps hammering away at the murder theory, but I oversaw the investigation myself. There wasn’t a smidgen of evidence to support murder.”
“I’d like to read the evidence report.”
“No problem. Then hopefully you can talk some sense into Esther.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Pierce said, “but to tell you the truth, I’m having a difficult time believing Charlie would kill himself.”
“Maybe that’s because you haven’t seen him in quite a few years. The last time you actually spent any extended time with him, you were a teenager.”
“Did you investigate me, too?”
“You and your brothers’ names came up during the investigation. We weren’t able to get in touch with any of you.”
“I was serving in the military in the Middle East.”
“So I heard. I questioned dozens of people myself,” the sheriff said. “No one ever had a bad word to say about Charlie Kavanaugh. He was a good churchgoer. The first man on the scene if someone needed a helping hand. He wasn’t robbed. Esther didn’t kill him. There’s no motive for murder.”
“So where’s the motive for him to commit suicide?” Pierce asked.
“He was having some money problems. That drought a couple of years back was hard on all the ranchers. They couldn’t grow enough hay and crops to feed the cattle. Charlie sold off at least a hundred head and took a big loss. No one was paying a decent price for beef then.”
“I’m sure his friend Dudley Miles would have backed him for a year or two if it was that bad.”
“Guess you haven’t heard about Dudley.” The sheriff finished off his coffee and reached for his wallet, obviously ready to end this conversation.
“Heard what?” Pierce asked.
“Dudley has his own problems, serious ones.”
“How serious?”
“He’s doing time.”
“Are you saying Dudley Miles is behind bars?”
“Yep. In prison for the next ten years before he can even request parole.”
Now Pierce was doubly shocked. Dudley Miles was a longtime friend of Charlie’s and owned and operated one of the largest and most successful ranches in this part of the state.
“It’s a long story,” Cavazos said, “but it involved that troublemaking daughter of his. Get Esther to give you the details. Get me started on that mess and I can go on for hours and I don’t have time for that today.”
Cavazos pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got an important call coming in. I’ll need to take it in private. You two enjoy your coffee. It’s on me.”
The sheriff told the caller to hold on a second, time he used to put down enough cash to cover the tab.
The waitress stopped by and refilled their cups. “Fresh pot. Can I get you two anything else? Best apple pie in Texas.”
They both declined. Grace sipped her coffee. Her hands shook, not so much she spilled the hot liquid, but enough that Pierce noticed.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“As okay as you’d expect after a random shooting, a few stitches in my head and talk of suicide and prison.”
“Nothing like Texas when you need an adventure.”
“It’s you and Jaci who are looking for adventure. Not me.”
Surprisingly, the sheriff rejoined them before they finished their second cup of coffee. He didn’t sit down.
“Good news.”
“We can use some of that,” Pierce said.
“One of the men sitting on the bench across the street from the florist shop when the shooting took place recognized the shooter.”
“A local?” Pierce asked.
“Not currently. Name’s Reid Peterson. Young guy. In his early twenties. Reportedly a member of a drug gang in San Antonio and probably so high on crack cocaine he didn’t even know where he was.”
Hard for Pierce to imagine a guy like that was targeting Grace, so just maybe the shooting was random. “What was this San Antonio drug member doing in Winding Creek?”
“His parents have a truck farm out on Blackstone Road. He must have been visiting them.”
“Is this his first time to cause this kind of trouble?”
Alarm had crept into Grace’s voice. Pierce reached over and took one of her hands in his. It was icy cold.
“First time he’s done a drive-by in Winding Creek, but he was arrested on vandalism charges several times when he was in high school. Shot out all the windows in the house of a schoolmate he’d gotten in a fight with after football practice.”
“Probabl
y on drugs even then,” Pierce said.
“No doubt, but hopefully he’ll get the rehab he needs behind bars.”
“Then you are definitely convinced today’s shooting was random?” Grace asked.
“Absolutely. Crack cocaine can really mess up a person’s mind.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Her exhale became a sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. Hearing that the sheriff was convinced the shooting was random was obviously a relief to her. As far as Pierce was concerned, that indicated that she suspected she’d been intentionally targeted.
Pierce was more convinced than ever that she was running scared. Today’s shooting might have nothing to do with it, but then again it could. She might not want his help, but no way was he going to let her take off on her own again until he was sure she was safe.
Short of calf roping her and tying her down, he had no idea how he was going to accomplish that.
Thanks to Charlie, he was right handy with a calf rope.
* * *
GRACE STARED OUT the window at rolling hills, cattle grazing lazily in green pastures, and mile after mile of barbwire fences. The tension that had scraped along her nerve endings when talking to the sheriff had eased but not completely melted away.
The events of the day had left her drained, more from the emotional trauma than the physical. If she’d brought danger to Jaci or Esther, she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself. She knew that torment all too well—all part of the never-ending nightmare that ruled her life.
The sweet relief she’d experienced when the sheriff assured her the shooting was definitely random had been quickly laced with anxiety. As much as she wanted to believe Cavazos was right, she could not rule out that those bullets had been meant for her.
The stalker from Tennessee could have tracked her to this area. She didn’t see how, but it was possible. And once he did, the Lacoste family likely still had connections in drug trafficking that could encompass the drug gangs in San Antonio.
Or the years of loneliness and personal detachment may have shaped her into a paranoid fruitcake. The man in Tennessee might have been just what he claimed, a man whose job had brought him to Mountain Edge.
For all she knew, he could have been a photographer capturing the magic of the quaint mountain community on film, including the homely librarian’s assistant with her hair in a bun, a skirt that was too long and sensible shoes.
Pierce turned onto a narrow dirt road that seemed to disappear into a strand of pine trees so tall and thick it completely hid the sun.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the ranch.”
The truck bounced and jerked through and around a maze of deep holes on a road in even worse shape than the logging road she’d stopped to explore two days ago.
Only two days and yet she felt as if she were being devoured by this lifestyle.
Pierce swerved to miss a large rock that had somehow ended up in the middle of the road.
“You’re going to ruin your tires and shocks,” she said.
“The salesman assured me this truck could take whatever I dished out. If it can’t handle this, I’m taking it back.”
“If you can get it back to the dealer in one piece.”
“You’re not too delicate for a few bumps, are you?”
“This is a few bumps about like the Grand Canyon is a small gully.”
Pierce stopped the truck at a metal gate. “The road gets a little better after this.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been gone from the area a long time.”
“Yes, but I followed this road yesterday and discovered a woman playing chase with a rooster.”
“Very funny. Then this is the back entrance to the Double K Ranch?”
“Yep.”
“There’s no sign. How do visitors know where they are?”
“Charlie didn’t build it for visitors. He built it so he could haul feed to this part of the ranch in the spring when some of his other ranch roads flooded.”
Grace twisted in her seat so she could get a better look. “Nothing looks familiar. Which way is the house or the big barn near the chicken coop?”
“They’re off to the east, over several hills and a creek or two.”
She opened the truck door. “I’ll get the gate. What’s the code for the lock, or do you have a key?”
“No key. No code. It’s never locked.”
“Then what’s the point of the gate?”
“Same as the cattle gap. To keep the livestock in.”
Grace climbed from the truck, unlatched the gate and swung it open. Once Pierce had driven through, she walked across the cattle gap. No use to be careful of her beautiful red boots. They’d been cut by shattered glass, too.
Grace couldn’t imagine living in an isolated place like this and not bothering to lock gates. She’d never sleep. Yet Esther didn’t lock her house during the day even though she was convinced someone had come onto the ranch and murdered her husband.
“We should call Esther,” she said as she got back in the truck. “She’s surely wondering when we’ll be back.”
“I gave her a call while you used the restroom back at the coffee shop and told her we were taking the scenic route home.”
“How was Jaci?”
“Fine, I assume. She had her hands buried in sugar cookie dough, so I didn’t actually get to talk to her.”
The road turned east in the direction where Pierce had said the house was. He turned west, then gunned the engine as the altitude climbed. The truck bumped along the hard earth with Pierce swerving often to avoid running into a tree or bush.
Once over that hill, they stopped at a second gate. Again, she jumped out and did gate duties.
“How many gates does a ranch need?” she asked when they were moving again.
“Sometimes dozens,” Pierce said, “depending on the size of the ranch. If you didn’t have them, all the pastures would run together. You couldn’t control your grazing patterns. Running a ranch is more than just throwing out a little hay every now and then.”
“You learned all that in the ten months you were living with the Kavanaughs?”
“Yeah. My brothers and I did our fair share of baling hay, cleaning out the horse stalls, fixing fences, helping with roundups and branding, giving routine injections and most everything else that has to be done around the ranch.”
“The exciting life of a cowboy.”
“Not always exciting, but I sure learned to get comfortable in my own skin here and developed a real love for the land. The only part I didn’t like was turning bulls into steers, but I became really good at it.”
“That’s high on the list of things I never want to watch you do.”
“That’s no way for a cowgirl to talk. We’re going to have to get you on a horse to get you in the spirit.”
“I should tell you now, that isn’t going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“They are too big and I didn’t see brakes, steering wheels or seat belts to them.”
“After a few times in the saddle, you’ll love the feeling of freedom and be glad you’re not buckled into anything.”
She shook her head. “You are never convincing me of that.”
He reached across the seat and let his hand rest on her shoulder. “Never underestimate a cowboy’s power of persuasion.”
That, she wouldn’t do. Every minute she spent around Pierce, the deeper he crawled under her skin. When he touched her the way he was now, she could feel the heat of desire from her head to her toes.
“When I was younger, I planned to own a ranch like this myself one day,” Pierce said. “Only my second day back on the Double K and I’m leaning that way again. Once the cowboy lifes
tyle gets into your blood, it’s hard to leave it.”
“And yet you chose to become a navy SEAL.”
“That got into my blood, too. Maybe it’s the idea of being tied down to a nine-to-five job in a suffocating office that I can’t get into.”
Grace could believe that about Pierce. He had a free spirit about him that she envied. Perhaps that was part of the reason she found him so exciting. But not the only reason.
He was different from any man she’d ever met. Ruggedly handsome. All man but with that cocky boyishly exciting manner that made her feel at ease even when she knew she shouldn’t. Strong. Protective. Basically irresistible.
Pierce topped another hill, then stopped the truck and killed the engine. He pointed to the scene in front of them. “Get a load of this, and you’ll see what I mean about the Double K getting into your blood.”
Her breath caught as she scanned the area. They were parked beneath an aged oak tree. Two squirrels raced around its thick trunk. Three brilliantly colored blue jays jeered at them from their perches in the tangled, nearly bare branches.
Acres of rolling, fenced and cross-fenced pastures stretched off to the east. To the west was a rocky ledge that appeared to drop off dramatically. Beyond that was a creek that snaked its way into a heavily forested area.
Pierce climbed out of the truck and walked over to open her door. Before he could, she’d already jumped from the truck to a soft carpet of yellowing grass and dead oak leaves.
“I hear water,” she said.
“Over here.” He reached for her hand as he led her to the cliff’s edge. “Watch your step and keep hold of my hand. Some of the smaller rocks can shift when you step on them.”
They stopped at the edge of the gorge, her hand locked with a man she barely knew. Fear and uncertainty instead of exhilaration should have been swirling in her brain. How had she gotten to this place so quickly with Pierce after all she’d been through?
A gentle mist washed across her face. That was when she spotted the waterfall cascading down the slope of rocks to push its way into the creek below.
“It’s truly breathtaking,” she murmured.
“It’s my favorite place on the ranch,” Pierce admitted. “When attacks of grief at the loss of my parents made going forward almost impossible, I’d ride out here and somehow find an element of peace.”
