The Troubled Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  Rounding the car, she skidded to a stop . . . coming face-to-face with one very big and immensely angry sheriff.

  His legs were spread shoulder-width apart and his arms were folded across his chest. “You planning on running away? Guess it’s easier the second time—”

  “I’m not running away!”

  “You always take your refrigerator with you when you go out?”

  “Deuce, this doesn’t involve you. And for your information I just bought the refrigerator and haven’t had time to take it into the depot yet.” She took a deep breath. “There isn’t anything you can do.”

  “I tried to follow you, but couldn’t keep up. There’s one thing for sure, I have an issue or two with you, lady; and by damn you aren’t going anywhere until I have answers.” His look was stony, unbendable. “Do you understand?” The corner of his mouth twisted with exasperation.

  An ultimatum! What gall! She clenched her fist. Nails bit into her palm, but she continued to stare into stormy, dark eyes.

  “Why did you lie to me?” Deuce thundered.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Here we go again. You might not think you did, but those dimples tell another story.”

  “What do you want me to say? Confess? And to what exactly?” Her stomach knotted tighter, as she forced her gaze across the parking lot, searching for anyone lurking—anything to steer her attention away from Deuce’s accusations.

  “Don’t take me for a fool,” he said coolly.

  “I’ve accused you of lots of things, but I can assure you it’s never been being a fool.”

  “And that’s supposed to clear things up? Just tell me what in the hell is going on. But first . . .” He reached across and snatched her keys from her hand. Firmly catching her by the elbow, he turned her around and headed for the stucco building. “We’re going inside where we’ll have some privacy—”

  “Why? So you can handcuff me to those bars again?”

  He stalked toward the entrance, half dragging, half lifting her along. “Don’t tempt me, Rainey.”

  White-hot anger boiled inside of her.

  Rainey double-timed it, taking two steps to his one, in order to keep up with his long strides. “Damn it to hell, Deuce Cowan, you can royally pi—royally water me off,” she said breathlessly.

  Once inside, he turned off the bellowing alarm and called his office. “Jessup, disregard the alarm at the depot. It’s a false alarm.” He pocketed her car keys and pulled over a straight-back chair for her. Turning one around for himself, he straddled the seat.

  She jerked her chair back, separating them by a good two yards, then plopped down.

  “Damn it, Rainey. You’ve put me in one hell of a position. I trusted you and all you’ve done is lie to me. What in the hell is going on? And don’t tell me nothing. And don’t lie. You are the deputy DA they were talking about on TV. There is no Edward Burlington Michaels. Not even an Edward Santa Fe Michaels. You were in New York for a short period of time, and I want to know why!”

  “I don’t need you or anyone else involved. It’s nothing—”

  “Damn it to hell . . . nothing!” He slammed his fist against the back of the chair, making her flinch. “It wasn’t nothing that scared you out of your wits at the café.”

  “Go ahead. Arrest me.” Rainey crossed her wrists and pushed her arms out to him. “Handcuff me. Lock me up.”

  “Oh, hell’s bells!” Deuce jerked off his Stetson, ran his fingers through his hair, and crammed the hat back on his head.

  She let out a deep audible breath, and dropped her hands in her lap. Her gaze followed. “I’d hoped to be gone before you came after me. One call to LA and you’ll know the truth, so there’s no reason not to tell you.” She looked up and saw sharp, questioning eyes searching her face. “Yeah, Deuce, I’m in trouble. Big-time trouble. I just didn’t want to bring you or anybody else into it. Where do you want me to start?”

  “Begin by telling me what scared you at the café.”

  “There’s a man that I prosecuted. A mad zealot that played mind games. Have you heard of the Stonehill murders?”

  Deuce nodded. “An incestuous scumbag who branded nine or ten women and children like cattle before he murdered and stacked the bodies in a corner like sandbags, right?”

  “Yes, nine to be exact,” she said. “The crime scene was so disturbing that many of our veteran officers had to get counseling. I lived and breathed that case for nearly two years.”

  Deuce closed his eyes and grimaced. “Oh, God, Rai. I followed it for a while, but it was too gruesome for me.”

  “You are a trained professional and you still have no real idea what I went through. It’s something you’re not taught in law school. To prosecute him I had to get into his head. A place I don’t ever want to go again.” Realizing that her voice quivered, Rainey stopped and garnered a bit of coolheadedness before compiling more words. “There were lots of things not in the paper. The perp stalked me while he awaited trial, sending me threatening letters. Really weird, eerie stuff. Later he sent details about the murder scene written on pages from a Bible. Things only the murderer and people close to the DA’s office knew.”

  “Oh, God—”

  “He wanted to destroy me before I destroyed him. Hunter sat throughout the trial stoic, unreachable. Flat affect. That was until the verdict was read and he attacked me.”

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “Not physically. A sociopath like him thought he could get by with murder. Literally.”

  “And of course they didn’t have him in shackles.” Deuce slammed a fist into his palm. “We don’t want to infringe upon a murderer’s rights by handcuffing him in the presence of the jury. To hell with putting everyone around him in danger. How did he get that close to you?”

  “He had ankle shackles on, but they had rearranged the defense table to facilitate the cameras in the courtroom, so it was closer to our table than usual. And before you ask, the bailiff and deputies did their job. I don’t blame them. The defendant was just too quick for them.”

  “Damn it to hell!” Deuce clenched his fist tighter. “They could have hinged his feet to the floor because of the seriousness of his crime.”

  “Deuce, they had no reason to. He’d been a model prisoner, and sat calmly during the whole trial barely even looking up. We fear that type of outcome every trial. It’s part of being a prosecutor.” She took a deep breath before going on. “I saw him back at the café looking in the window.”

  “You think he’s in Kasota Springs?”

  “I know he is. I only saw his face, but he has eyes that you’d never forget. Haunting, black, and murderous.”

  “Then why in the hell didn’t you tell me right there and not rush out of the back door? You could have run right into him.” His expression turned from showing immense anger to a semblance of sympathy.

  “Deuce, I was just so scared that I couldn’t even think straight.” She fought back tears, refusing to allow him see her cry.

  “This town is so small that when a person sneezes on North Main, they are blessed by someone on South Main. I haven’t seen any strangers. Maybe it’s someone who just looks like him?”

  “No! It was him.”

  “He was convicted, so isn’t he in custody?”

  “Institutionalized at San Quentin.” Rainey took in air to allow time to scrounge up enough intestinal fortitude to give Deuce as many of the details as she could stand to relive.

  Tales of how the defendant’s attorney used an insanity ploy to get the death penalty off the table resulting in Hunter’s being incarcerated for the rest of his life spilled out.

  After concluding, she felt drained, exhausted, and empty. She closed her eyes hoping to erase the images, knowing it never worked.

  Rainey wasn’t sure she could corral enough nerve to explain her nonexistent, yet dead husband, but she must.

  And she did.

  Once finished, she was as relieved as if she had shuck
ed off a concrete overcoat. The truth really did set her free.

  “Damn, Rai.” Deuce clenched his fist again. “I’m furious at myself for not trusting you and forcing you to improvise such a cockamamie story.”

  “You didn’t make me do anything. I did it myself. All I had to do was tell you the truth. I’m not a very good liar, am I?”

  “Nope. Do you have a safe way to contact the DA?”

  “She’s the only one in LA that I can trust. But I agreed if she helped me I wouldn’t bring her into my problem by making contact.”

  “Why didn’t you go into the witness protection program?”

  “And live the rest of my life fearing that every knock on the door will be a man handing me a new identity? Worry that every time I see a moving van, they’re coming to take my things away? I won’t live that way.”

  “But you’re living a worse existence now,” Deuce said, as more of a statement than a question. “We need to find out whether this man is still safely behind bars. I’ll do that myself.”

  Deuce pushed his chair back and walked toward the exhausted woman. He pulled Rainey to her feet and scooped her into his arms. Smoothing her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “I can protect you, if you’ll let me.” He nuzzled his chin against her hair. “Don’t leave. You need rest, so I’m taking you out to the ranch until I can check this man out. You’ll be safe out there.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll stay, but I’m too emotionally drained to leave.” Against her skin, his body felt hard and warm. She wound her arms inside his jacket and around his back, hugging him. Relaxing, she sank into his cushiony protective embrace. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I just didn’t know who to trust, so I chose to trust no one.”

  “I wish I could say it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter to me, but it does. I shouldn’t have had to pry it out of you. You should have trusted me as an officer of the law and your friend.”

  “I’m truly sorry.” Rainey slid her hands from beneath his jacket and touched his face, lightly tracing the cleat scar above his lip with her fingertips, brushing against his dark stubbly jaw. “I wish I’d done things different, but, Deuce, I never meant—”

  “We’re not all perfect.” He covered her hand with his and pressed it to his cheek. “Everyone has their secrets and it doesn’t change how I feel.”

  “Danny, patrol the road to my place. Stay near the house, but make sure Rainey doesn’t see you. I don’t want anybody near the ranch who doesn’t belong there. She doesn’t need to be scared again.” Deuce gave the chief deputy his location and, as an afterthought, said, “Didja ever get a haircut? You know you’re pushing the envelope on county regs with your long hair.”

  Cramming his fingers in his Levi’s pockets, he headed up the walk leading to the Kasota Springs Nursing and Rehab Center. Tonight was no different than the other three hundred and sixty-four nights of the year, but for some reason he dreaded this visit more.

  Maybe it was leaving Rainey alone at the ranch when she needed him. Scared of what he would find when he returned. Or what he might not find. He had to trust her. Besides, she was too exhausted to run. Not tonight at least. Hopefully, she was snuggled up on the couch drinking the herbal tea he had fixed for her. Or, maybe stretched out, relaxing in the hot tub. Wearing a—uh, what? She probably didn’t have a bathing suit, so she’d have to wear the obvious. Yep, the whole five feet of trouble would be lookin’ good, really hot with nothing on but deep dimples and lots of charm.

  He sighed. The truth was, he only half expected to find her there when he returned home; although he’d talked to his foreman and asked him to watch the house. Damn, Deuce wished he could have stayed and taken care of her.

  Even lusty thoughts of Rainey running around naked couldn’t chase away Deuce’s apprehension about this visit to the nursing home. Maybe he was tired of being brave. One thing certain, of late his brain seemed to spend a lot of time crammed in his pants.

  On the outside, Deuce Cowan tried to be a tough, unflappable hound dog like his father, but deep inside he knew he was little more than a Maltese. Even at that, he couldn’t allow himself to feel the pain. To think. He had to remain in control, try to understand, and do what was necessary, regardless of how much it hurt. And, oh, God, did it ever hurt.

  Pulling up to his full height, he jerked his hands from his pockets, opened the door, and entered the lobby. He removed his hat and headed for Unit B and the long walk to room B-16.

  “Good evening, sheriff.” A pocked-faced, male nurse-tech, not much older than eighteen, shuffled past.

  Deuce returned the greeting. Nearing the nurses’ station, he halted.

  Smiling, a stately perfectly groomed lady dressed in ice blue walked in his direction. “Sheriff Cowan, good to see you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Any improvement?”

  The administrator, Elaine, hugged her iPad as if it were a child and turned stern, yet caring eyes up to him. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Deuce, come to my office. We need to talk.” She escorted him to the third office on the left and closed the door behind them.

  After taking a seat across from him, she eased into a reserved smile. “You have no idea how I’ve dreaded having this conversation, but we both knew it would eventually become necessary. It’s time to move her.”

  Deuce dropped his eyes and studied the pattern on the carpet. Why would they choose purple and yellow for a nursing home? He never liked the colors anyway. He knew he couldn’t avoid making a decision any better than he could determine why someone used such awful colors for floor covering.

  He forced his eyes upward, and met Elaine’s gaze.

  “It’s okay, Elaine. I knew when I brought her here that it’d only be a matter of time until she’d need the next level of care, but I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so soon.”

  “I’m sorry. With Alzheimer’s, no one can really determine how the disease will affect a patient ahead of time. Even on a daily basis, experts don’t know what to expect. We knew she’d need more specialized care and the time came sooner than we anticipated.” A cadence of beeps sounded and she checked her pager. “I’ve got to go, but there’s a new patch on the market and the doctor has started it. Maybe we’ll see some improvement before you have to decide where to move her, but most likely she’s too far advanced now for the patch to help. I’ll keep praying that’ll help her.”

  Another peep came from her pager and she pushed a button. “She roamed away from the facility again today. She doesn’t like the location bracelet, but at least it notifies us when she walks out a door. We can’t take a chance on her endangering herself.”

  “Where was she headed this time?”

  “To watch you play football, little league. Yesterday, it was to have lunch with your father, and the day before . . . I don’t even remember. But today was different. She’s been extremely agitated and has been talking about people she’s never spoken of before. Regressing. If only our facilities were more geared toward her needs . . .”

  “You’ve done everything you can.”

  “Thank you. We’ve tried, but even today she became belligerent to her favorite volunteer and we now have to find a replacement. Someone who has just a few minutes a day to visit with her. But it has to be a person she likes. Alzheimer’s patients can be receptive to one person, while another can cause them to become disoriented.”

  “That disappoints me because she really liked her Pink Lady.”

  “She did and the volunteer feels she has failed her. Deuce, I’ve got to go, but our social worker is available to help with a placement for her.”

  “Maybe I need to move her back to Denton or even Amarillo.”

  “There are several good facilities in both towns. Do you want me to wait on contacting the worker?”

  “Give me a few days to think through all of this. I know she’s in good hands here.”

  “Sure. I know it’s hard, but it’ll be okay.” She stood
and patted him on the arm. “Take all the time you need to gather your thoughts before you go for your visit. Above all, it’s so important that you stay positive, no matter how hard it gets. She can sense things and we don’t know what will set her off and what won’t. She simply cannot be upset, so please just stay positive.”

  Deuce stared into space and wondered when hospitals stopped painting their walls drab green and began using brighter colors. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He sat silently for a while, then rose and trudged toward unit B-16.

  Tapping on the door before he entered, Deuce watched as a frail, delicate flowerlike woman with closely cropped blue-white hair stood over a dresser drawer sorting and resorting clothing. Haphazard, disorderly piles surrounded her.

  “Don’t just stand there, young man,” she said, as she tossed a nightgown on a chair. “Come in and shut the door. You’re letting out all of the cold air, and you know how it can run up the electric bill.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Deuce closed the door. “What are you doing, Mom?”

  “Tah, tah.” She wagged an arthritic finger at him. “Not everybody gets away with calling me that, you know?” She peered up at him with dull, emotionless brown eyes. “Just my husband and my son.” She picked up the gown, examined it, and stuck the garment under the bed. “If I didn’t enjoy our visits so much, young man, you wouldn’t get by with it either.”

  She moved to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and dumped the contents onto the chenille bedspread. Fumbling through personal items, she removed the pillow from its case and tossed the things one by one into the pillow slip. Once finished, she closed the fabric with a clothespin and hid the bag under the bed.

  That’s when he noticed. He recognized the dainty pastel print of one of her favorite housedresses hanging low beneath a white, cotton slip. A fuchsia sweater he didn’t recognize covered her shoulders and she wore fluffy, purple slippers with men’s dress socks. She had dressed herself again.

  “Stop ogling me,” she reprimanded him.

  At the sharpness of his mom’s voice, Deuce jerked his head up.