Lone Star Legacy

by Roxanne Rustand

  “Of course they did,” she said bitterly. “They figured I must’ve helped him hide the money in a safe place, so therefore I could help them get it back.” She glared at Joel and backed away. “But if that were true, I sure wouldn’t be struggling to make ends meet, would I? I knew our house was mortgaged to the roof. But just before he died, Patrick emptied our bank accounts and maxed our credit cards on cash advances. I didn’t know any of that until after his death.”

  “The cops probably assumed you two were filtering it all into some offshore account so you could flee the country.”

  “Exactly. Pat called home from work on the day of the accident. Said he had a surprise weekend for the three of us, so I should pack quickly and be ready. But far as I knew, I was not getting ready to run.”

  She turned on her heel to go back in the house, but Joel gently caught her arm. “Wait.”

  “To be tried and convicted by you? The authorities found no proof. I was never charged.” Her voice rose, laced with the pain of betrayal and humiliation. “If anything, they probably thought I was pathetically stupid for not knowing what was going on.”

  The dog took an aggressive stance at Joel’s feet, a low, threatening growl rumbling in its throat.

  “Tell your dog,” he said quietly, “to settle down. We need to talk, not get all upset.”

  “Upset?” Her eyes flashed fire. “How do you think I should feel when someone assumes the worst?”

  “Believe me, I just want to help.” He led her over to the porch swing and sat down next to her.

  The dog followed and glared up at him, clearly eager to take things to the next level.

  “I can just imagine.” The rigidity of her spine seemed to fade, and now he saw only defeat in her eyes. “You know what will happen, now? Rumors will snowball. How can I possibly try to start a business here once that happens?”

  “I don’t intend to start any rumors, but word will probably get out sometime, and then you can calmly deal with it just as you did now. With the truth.” He took one of her hands in his to offer comfort. Her hand was trembling and cold, and the desire to protect her welled in his chest. “But in the meantime, you’ve got bigger problems—and you need some answers.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “The money situation and the car accident have to be related.” He fought the urge to reach out and tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “It’s all too coincidental, otherwise.”

  She nodded.

  “What if there was an embezzlement scheme? Maybe Patrick found out about it, and threatened to go to the police. Or maybe he was involved against his will. Someone could’ve trapped him into cooperating, or got their hooks into him when he was weak. Maybe he wanted out, and the others were afraid he’d squeal.”

  She bowed her head. “The police asked me if he was suicidal, knowing he’d be caught and sent to prison. Maybe our marriage had problems, but I’ll never believe that he’d kill himself and try to take Sophie and me with him.”

  “Did they find any evidence of tampering on your car?”

  “None—though how they could tell, I don’t know. I saw it at the junkyard after I got out of the hospital. The front left quadrant was crumpled like aluminum foil, and the rest of the car nearly unrecognizable.”

  “Any evidence of another car at the scene?”

  “No.” She looked away, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “The report said there were no foreign paint marks, chips or unexplained damage. It claimed that Patrick suddenly, inexplicably veered off the highway. Our car went airborne over an embankment, then rocketed into a concrete bridge abutment.”

  “Maybe someone veered in front of you. The lack of physical evidence doesn’t prove anything, does it?”

  “To the police, it did.” Her voice trailed away. “They said there would’ve been skid marks. Evidence that he’d slammed on the brakes, and steered wildly to avoid impact. But still, there are Sophie’s nightmares….”

  “Maybe she saw something and just doesn’t remember. Lots of people blank out during an accident.”

  “I sure did, and I regret it every day,” Beth retorted bitterly. She reached into her back pocket and handed Joel a folded envelope. “And the authorities aren’t done with me yet. They still believe I have the loot stashed away in some secret hideaway.”

  He opened the letter and scanned the contents. “They want another statement?”

  “Probably because they hope to trip me up and prove me a liar.” She fidgeted with the wedding ring on her right hand. “And what else can I tell them but the truth—again?”

  “Did Patrick ever seem unusually tense or distracted, or mention any unexpected investments?”

  “During the months before he died, he was more distant. He got defensive when I asked him what was wrong. But I suspected an affair, not this.” A sad smile tipped up a corner of her mouth. “An affair would have been so much better. Now, it’s not only the authorities who doubt me. Someone else is sure I have the money or know how to find it. And he could be anyone—someone at the company. A partner in crime. Or just some random person who has heard about it. And someday, his threats may actually be real.”

  AFTER AWAKENING AT THREE on Wednesday morning to bake her brioche, croissants and other assorted pastries, Beth changed aprons and flipped on the café lights. At seven o’clock she turned the front window sign to Open for the very first time.

  At seven-fifteen she started pacing. Adjusting a picture frame here. The angle of a decorative teapot there.

  At seven-thirty, she heard Sophie call her name, and she hurried upstairs for the morning ritual of hugs and kisses, then quickly dressed her and brought her down to the café for breakfast.

  Two red-faced young cowboys—early twenties at the most—stood just inside the front door, their hats held at their sides, their booted feet shuffling awkwardly.

  They both looked as if they were about to bolt.

  “Hi, guys, ready for breakfast?” Beth crossed the room to grab menus from an antique fern pedestal just inside the door.

  They glanced at each other, both taking a wary step back at her approach. The taller one swallowed hard and nodded.

  She smiled, suddenly realizing why they were here. “Ahhhh. You wouldn’t be related to Gina Carlton, would you?”

  The short one ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am. She’s our aunt. I’m Charley, and this here is Jake.”

  Sophie came up beside her. “Are they cowboys, Momma?”

  “Sure looks like it.” Beth ruffled the crown of Sophie’s head, then led the two men to a table by the front window, their boots clomping hollowly across the oak floor. She handed them each a menu. “Coffee, for starters?”

  They both seemed entranced by the breakfast menu, and it took a moment for one of them to nod.

  She brought them each a cup and left the small pot, then settled Sophie at a table in the back corner with her usual Cheerios, milk and juice, adding a sliced strawberry garnish to the cereal.

  The two cowboys were still studying the menu when she returned. Jake was talking furtively on his cell phone. “All set?”

  They each shot a guilty look at her, then looked back at the menu.

  “Can I help you decide? The pastries are all fresh baked. The brioche are still warm, in fact. Do you like omelets? The three-cheese with asparagus and dill is a good choice. Or,” she added when Charley flinched, “there’s the bacon and cheddar.”

  “I’ll take that,” Jake said quickly.

  Charlie nodded. “Me, too.”

  “With the brioche, or a croissant?”

  “That first one.” They spoke nearly in unison.

  She suppressed the sudden urge to give them both a hug, then glanced around the café as she headed to the kitchen.

  Surely it didn’t seem too feminine and intimidating…did it? The blue gingham was cheery and bright. Countrified, if anything. The white vertical blinds weren’t the least bit fussy. The collection of chintz teapots was a prett
y touch over on the hutch she’d painted white as a display piece—

  The teapots had to go, if these first two customers were any clue. Maybe even her collection of antique coffee tins. Crumpled cowboy boots, a dusty old saddle and some rifles probably would have been a better decorating scheme.

  She sighed as she donned a pair of disposable gloves and got to work on the omelets. Every few minutes she peeked out at Sophie, who was making little life rafts of her remaining Cheerios.

  “They’re gone,” she announced solemnly when Beth backed through the swinging café doors to the kitchen with a steaming, fragrant plate in each hand.

  “You can certainly have more,” Beth said. “Just wait a sec—”

  But then she followed Sophie’s gaze to the table at the front of the café and her heart fell. A much-folded ten-dollar bill lay by each coffee cup, but the coffee had barely been touched, and the chairs were empty.

  “Well, Poppin,” she said on a long sigh as she put the plates down on Sophie’s table. “How about having a second course?”

  THE MORNING DRAGGED ON, AND ON.

  Two elderly ladies came for a cup of tea.

  The pharmacist strolled in at ten for coffee and a croissant to go.

  She’d decided to open for just breakfast and lunch, and see how things went, but after a deserted house throughout the noon hour, she started counting the minutes until one-thirty. Maybe this whole idea had been one huge, expensive mistake. What had she been thinking?

  And then the bells tinkled madly over the front door, and she came out of the kitchen to find Walt and Joel standing by a table, and four rugged-looking ranchers hovering just inside the door.

  The smile Joel flashed at her warmed her clear to her toes.

  But before she could say anything to him, Gina walked in the door, her mouth a grim line and her two chastened nephews in tow. It appeared that at least half of these customers were here under duress, but if they were satisfied, maybe the word would spread.

  “This table okay?” Walt asked, tipping his head toward one in the corner.

  “Anywhere—anywhere at all.” She took a deep breath. “And just for today, the entrees and desserts are on the house.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE OFFER OF FREE FOOD produced a sea of smiles. But when Beth got everyone seated with menus in front of them, the smiles faded to expressions of consternation, and for Gina’s two nephews, a new round of blushes.

  Beth hovered at the lunch counter in back, watching them, as Joel’s words marched through her thoughts.

  Grits.

  Corn bread.

  Roadhouse barbecue.

  With the exception of Walt, Joel and Gina, her patrons were rough-and-tough cowhands who’d probably never set foot in a tearoom, and until she did some décor makeovers, that’s just what the place looked like. The fancy names on the menu undoubtedly compounded the problem.

  These first customers were probably accomplished people in their own right, but given their expressions, they wouldn’t know a croque en bouche from a cow pie…and weren’t very eager to find out, either.

  Gina met her gaze, smiled and stood up. “Okay. I promised you guys that this food is good. Some of the pastries might have fancy names, but it’s all good, down-home cooking at its best. I know I was baffled at Starbucks at first. I had no clue how to pronounce the names of those coffee drinks, and I was too embarrassed to try. So for those of you who came here because of me, I’m coming to your tables, and we’re going to talk.”

  Bemused, Beth relinquished her order pad, and watched Gina move around the room reading some of the names on the menu, her infectious smile and laughter setting her hulking male relatives at ease.

  “We’re set,” Walt called out to Beth.

  She crossed over to their table and took their order. “I’m sure glad you came,” she murmured. “This morning looked pretty bleak.”

  Walt handed back his menu and smiled. “A talented girl like you will have this place hopping in no time. I just hope you’ll still have time for us at the clinic.”

  “No problem there—late afternoon still works great for me.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Though if things don’t pick up fast here, I’ll be more available than I want to be.”

  At the twinkle in Walt’s eyes, she realized the double meaning of her words. “For work,” she amended quickly. “At the clinic.”

  Walt had been dropping broad hints for weeks about her staying in town permanently, and he’d been entirely too obvious about who she ought to be dating.

  She glanced at Joel, who was reading the back of the lunch menu. He’d apparently missed his uncle’s subtle implication and the heated blush that had to be obvious to everyone else in the room.

  She turned on her heel, went to the kitchen and started on their order, thankful that Anna had been able to pick up Sophie and watch her for the afternoon. With no servers to tend the front of the house just yet, even a small rush of customers would mean she needed to hurry along to cover all the bases herself.

  Both Walt and Joel had ordered the chicken, almond and grape salad on a croissant, with a cup of lobster bisque. Donning her plastic gloves, she quickly assembled the sandwiches on her country blue stoneware plates, and ladled the bisque into matching soup cups. She added a garnish of watercress and fresh strawberries on each plate, a sprig of parsley on the bisque, and made it out to the front of the house in—she glanced at the clock—three minutes flat.

  Walt’s ever-present, benevolent smile widened with true appreciation when he looked down at his meal. “This smells wonderful, Beth.”

  Joel nodded, and grinned up at her. “If it tastes half as good as it looks, you’re going to be overwhelmed with customers.”

  Warmth spread through her at his low voice and expression of frank admiration. “Steady business would be good. Overwhelmed would be even better, believe me.”

  His grin faded to a more somber expression. “When you have a minute, I’ve got a few questions. I’ll be at the clinic until five or so.”

  So he could ask her more about the past? No thanks. For the past two days their last conversation had played through her thoughts, and she didn’t want to go down that road again.

  The fact that Joel had delved into her past still felt like a violation of her privacy…even if she understood the reasoning behind it. But his discoveries were embarrassing nonetheless.

  Especially in light of the physical attraction she could not dispel.

  The irony was that she’d lived a goody-two-shoes life to the point of returning extra change when clerks made errors in her favor, and now words like investigation and embezzlement were never far from her thoughts.

  The bell over the front door tinkled, and Loraine Gilbert strolled in. Dressed as always in her boots, well-worn jeans and a western shirt, she was the sun-browned image of a strong ranch woman from her assured air to her businesslike stride.

  But when her gaze drifted to Joel and Walt’s table, her stride faltered. What Beth had already suspected surely had to be true—the woman had a thing for Walt, whether he knew it or not.

  And maybe the two of them could use a little help.

  “I’m so glad you stopped in, Ms. Gilbert.” Beth directed her to a table adjacent to Walt’s and handed her a menu. Just as Beth hoped, Walt stood and pulled back a chair for her at his own table. “The special today is a good one—anything you see, on the house.”

  Loraine gave the menu a brief, decisive glance and handed it back. “The fresh fruit and crab salad plate. Brioche. Black coffee. Thanks.”

  Walt laughed. “That’s my Lorrie. Never dithered a day in her life.”

  “Once,” she retorted. “And that taught me a lesson I never forgot.”

  Wishing she could stay and listen to their usual banter, Beth headed back in the kitchen and started Loraine’s plate.

  Gina walked in a moment later with four order tickets in her hand. She blew at her bangs. “I swear, you’
d think those cowboys had never stepped foot off the ranch. Took forever and a day to get this down for you.”

  Over Gina’s shoulder and the top of the swinging café doors, Beth could see the men chuckling and elbowing each other. “Or they were having fun with you.”

  She followed Beth’s gaze, then rolled her eyes. “Auntie Gina is not pleased if that’s the case. So, how are you going to handle serving and cooking?”

  “Soups, stews and casserole specials will all be made ahead, of course. The sandwich selection will vary each day, but each is quick to assemble.”

  “Good plan.” Gina looked at her watch. “Oops, I need to get back to school for a meeting. If you have any trouble with those bozos, be sure to let me know.” She winked. “They may all act like John Wayne, but they are marshmallows inside. Believe me.”

  “But you haven’t had anything to eat.” Beth quickly assembled a pesto chicken sandwich, settled it in a clear plastic take-out box and handed it to her. “At least take this. And dessert—”

  “Better not go that far. I know it would be delicious. I’d be addicted. And then I’d be here every single day.” Gina patted her hips. “But thanks a million for the sandwich.”

  With a quick hug, she disappeared through the swinging doors.

  A deep feeling of contentment welled up in Beth’s heart as she prepared and served her first customers.

  A business of her own.

  Growing friendships.

  After years of frequent moves and little time or opportunity to develop relationships with other women, it all seemed so perfect….

  The phone rang. And for once, the ring didn’t make her heart skip a beat. Perhaps this would be a take-out order from yet another one of Gina’s obedient relatives, or even from someone else.

  She picked up the phone, and imagined the caller could hear the happiness in her voice when she said, “Crystal’s Café, can I help you?”

  But it wasn’t the unfamiliar voice of a new customer on the line, and the caller didn’t waste time saying hello.

  “Beth.” Anna Garcia’s voice trembled. “I brought Sophie inside right away, and I—I called the sheriff.”