Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1)

by Janice Olson

  “Yes, the lake does have fish.”

  “I beg your pardon.” She looked back at him as though he were speaking Chinese.

  Jason pointed down toward the lake with his fork, a laugh teasing his lips. “The lake. I said it has fish.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.” She smiled, desiring to show him she could be friendly also.

  “Often when I’d visit Aunt Maddy, I’d throw a line in and catch a couple of bass. Martha would cook them for us. Some good eating.”

  “How fun.” And this all belongs to me. She still couldn’t believe her fortune.

  She placed her napkin on her lap and reached for her fork. “What size is your ranch?” A good, safe, innocuous question.

  He tilted his head giving her a studied look, his features softened. “Well, for Texas, my ranch isn’t overly big. I own outright around five thousand acres, lease another six more.”

  “Five hundred and six acres sound pretty big to me. I—” His boom of laughter brought her up short. “Did I miss something?”

  “Just five hundred and ninety four thousand acres is all. I ranch eleven thousand acres.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I misunderstood.” She pushed her food around the plate, not sure she could eat a bite. “I know you have longhorns.” She saw his eyes narrow. “Heard you mention them in the meeting with Horace T. How many do you have?”

  He smiled. “What got you calling Hampton Horace T.?”

  “Just seemed to fit the man.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think it had something to do with his staunchy appearance. Just knew I couldn’t think of him as Mr. Hampton, didn’t seem to fit.”

  Jason wore a cute smirch on his lips, nodding his head. “I know what you mean. Horace T. fits him far better.” He jabbed a piece of tomato with his fork. “What do you do exactly?”

  She gave him a quizzical look wondering why he didn’t answer her question about the longhorns.

  “Work.” He shook his head. “I heard Horace T. mention a gallery. What kind of gallery do you have?” He shoved the juicy red slice in his mouth.

  She remembered how those same lips felt on hers. Stop, right now!

  BJ took a few seconds wondering how much she wanted him to know about her business then decided this was far safer ground than sparring or thinking uncomfortable thoughts. “I’m an art-photographer. I work with mixed mediums of sorts.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I take photographs. Afterward, I take those same photos, enlarge them, and turn them into works of art by adding other mediums to the picture—paints, stains, paper, cloth, gesso. You name it, I use it.” She smiled. Her work was her life and she couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do. Photography to her didn’t have that job-like feeling. More like play.

  “And do you sell your works of art to the public?”

  “Yes. My gallery is on The Strand in Galveston. It does a fairly brisk business. Plus, I sell to other galleries too. That’s how I make my living.”

  Her plate barely touched, she noticed Jason had finished his food. But then, she wasn’t really hungry. The trip, the meeting, and seeing Jason had taken its toll.

  “I never remembered you having an artistic bent in school.”

  She didn’t take exception to his choice of words. His expression was thoughtful, without a hint of the animosity. “I didn’t have one. Picked it up at UT.”

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin and shoved her plate away before relaxing up against the back of her chair, elbows on the armrests. “How many cattle do you have on your ranch?”

  The change of subject startled him, took him a little off guard. She wanted to see if he’d answer the question this time.

  Jason squinted off in the distance. “Hmm. Well, at the present time, I have close to a couple thousand, what with the spring calving and all.”

  “Wow. All longhorns?”

  The smile he offered could only be described as endearing … like the boy she remembered. “No. About half are longhorns, the other half Hereford. But the number will vary depending upon the time of the year. Right now, I have about five hundred calves almost ready to be sold at auction and a few more will be ready in another month or so.”

  “You have quite an operation.” She witnessed his easy smile and the sparkle in his eye that could only mean pride in his business. “Does your wife help you on your ranch?”

  For some reason his eyelids came down, shielding like shutters, blocking out the world. His expression tight and unyielding.

  What had she said? Could it be that he didn’t like her asking about his wife?

  “My wife …” His cell phone ring interrupted. “Excuse me, please.” His look could have frosted a glass. “Jace here.”

  She fiddled with the silver on the table wondering why the sudden change of mood while Jason continued to hold a one-way conversation.

  “Don’t do anything. I’ll be there less than twenty.” He snapped the lid shut on his phone, slipped it back into the leather holder, folded and placed his napkin on the table. “I hate to leave so abruptly, but I’m needed at the ranch.” He stood. “Have a good night’s stay and a pleasant trip back to Galveston. I’ll see you in a little less than two weeks.”

  “I hope nothing serious happened.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t bother getting up. I know my way out.”

  She turned, watching him stroll back into the house.

  Her thoughts weighed heavy while she gazed at the scene before her without taking in the beauty. Her world was spinning out of her control. Within a short span of time, so much had happened—changed. One thing for sure, she didn’t like it. She was fairly sure her new world would not be for the better.

  As far as lunch with Jason, she thought she had handled him in a casual, friendly manner, just as she would any other business associate. But in reality, she couldn’t fool herself. She’d fought hard to keep control of her wayward thoughts—his smile, his voice, his ability to reach deep inside her and make her feel things she had buried deep and thought forgotten.

  Chapter 25

  Jason stood alongside his foreman, Mateo Hernandez. The flattened Costal Bermuda held the bloody remains of his slaughtered calves and looked incongruent with the tall grass that surrounded them.

  Two calves butchered, and not by coyotes. Senseless, and pure meanness.

  “Pepper found them. She made a horrible racket to gain my attention.” Mateo was the best foreman around. At fifty-three, his five foot eight frame leaned toward stocky but firm. He was a marvel at breaking broncs, rounding up cattle, and the general day-to-day running of the Rocking J ranch. Mateo could keep up with the best of wranglers. He took no guff off anyone, and didn’t have to. Everyone respected him as much as Jason did.

  The Blue Tick, upon hearing her name, danced around until Jason gave her a hand signal. She walked over to his side and sat down next to his leg looking up at him.

  By the scowl on Mateo’s face, Jason knew Mateo didn’t think much of the lowlife who took pleasure in doing something so despicable to harmless animals. To leave them to rot instead of taking them for food showed they were dirtbags of the worst kind. He spat on the ground.

  “Didn’t see any signs of who did this. It’s definitely human though. Not animal.” Mateo bent down, his rear resting on the backs of his heels. His steel stiletto point moved along a twenty-inch gash in the side of one dead calf no more than three weeks old. “By this slash in the belly, looks like someone wants to send a message. The thing is … I don’t know what they’re trying to say.” He shoved his hat back higher on his forehead to gaze up at Jason.

  “Same thing on the other calf?” Jason glanced less than five feet away to the second dead carcass—feet tied, and by the looks of it killed in an identical manner.

  “Same thing.” Mateo pulled his hat off slapping it against his thigh. A plum of dust rose to disappear in the wind. He wiped his brow with his sleeve then shoved the hat back on.

  Jason knew his
father’s choice of Mateo as foreman was providential, especially when the Drunken T had tried their best to entice Mateo to leave the Rocking J and work for them. Fortunate for Jason, Mateo refused, even when they offered double his salary. He told them the Rocking J had given him a start when no one in Serenity would, so he’d stay put.

  Jason was glad he had.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  Reuben’s agitated voice drew Jason’s and Mateo’s attention away from the unsightly scene.

  The youngest of Mateo’s three sons, pulled on the reins of his chestnut mustang, jumped off and hit the ground running as Stubborn locked his leg, skidding to a stop. The animal blew through his nostrils, ambled off nipping at the tall green grass, reins dragging on the ground.

  The broad shoulder, tanned-skinned man, other than being twenty-three and four inches taller than Mateo, was the closest of the three brothers to becoming a duplicate of their father.

  “Jace.” Reuben, sweat dripping from his brow, dipped his head in greeting. “Hate to tell you, same thing happened at the south pasture, only its three calves there, not two. Pete, at Fielder’s Pond, said he had five down. And I haven’t heard from Slim yet. Was just heading in that direction when I ran across you two.”

  “Same type of slaughter?” Jason didn’t like to think that someone was systematically picking off his calves. Made no sense. And would cost him plenty.

  “Yep. Just ripped the side open. He left them to bleed to death. Whoever it was better hope I never catch ’em.” Hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, Reuben kicked at the ground, venom reeking from his pores. He had worked the Rocking J since he was old enough to ride a horse. For the last two years, whenever Texas A&M let out for summer or winter vacations, Reuben worked on the ranch to earn spending money for school.

  “No!” Jason’s emphatic words were louder than he intended, but he wanted to get his point across.

  Reuben jerked his head up, eyes intent on Jason.

  “Don’t even think it.” Jason did his best to look stern and foreboding. “If you catch these guys in the act, I order you to go get help. Do you understand?”

  Reuben opened his mouth to speak.

  “You will do as you’re told.” Mateo stepped up next to his son.

  With Reuben built like a linebacker, Mateo wouldn’t have stood a chance if it came to an altercation. But Jason witnessed the look of respect in Reuben’s face. He lowered his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. It’s understood.” Mateo wiped the steel blade he’d used to examine the calf on his pant leg, and then closed the knife, slipping it into his pant pocket.

  “Use your cell phones to keep in touch—both of you.”

  Mateo and Reuben nodded their acknowledgment.

  “Reuben, when you check on Slim, have him tell the others I want well-charged cell phones and loaded rifles at all times. Also, I want Slim and the boys to round up all cows with calves and move them to the north grazing pasture. Place them in the field closest to the bunkhouse. I think whoever’s doing this will be less likely to try again for fear of being caught.

  “Mateo.” Jason looked over at his foreman. “Get someone to clean this mess up, then come on up to the house. We need to discuss what we’re going to do to keep this from happening again. Of all times, I don’t need this grief now.”

  Chapter 26

  BJ tossed in bed, covers twisted around her body. Too many thoughts had been dredged up, driving away sleep. The main culprit … Jason. She knew better than to lust after another woman’s husband, and she hadn’t, had she? She’d fought a valiant fight, but keeping her heart and mind on the right track had proven one of the hardest things she’d done. Even with her eyelids closed, she could see his teasing smile, and longed that things could have been different.

  He hadn’t make any passes at her, he wouldn’t, being married. He’d been the perfect gentleman. But somehow, she just couldn’t separate her youthful crush from the man who sat across from her at lunch this afternoon. The one and same man driving away sleep and bringing about her shameful desires.

  Chalk it up to having sworn off men, living alone, or maybe not having dated in over a year. Or, even more disgraceful, wanting to revisit her first love. She would work past this bump in the road … this little hiccup, or whatever it was, she always did. Controlling her wants by ignoring them like she would a mosquito bite, always worked before. It would work now.

  Maybe if she found someone to date on a friendly basis that would do the trick. But first she’d have to find a man to become friendly with, someone that wouldn’t bore her stiff or become obnoxious, and in this small town the chances of finding such a man, doubtful. Perhaps she could go as far afield as Round Rock. Only a short distance and no busybodies or prying eyes, definitely better. But how does one go about meeting men in a strange town?

  Oh, forget it. A year will pass soon enough.

  Living here, seeing Jason would be all right once his wife moved into the mansion. And what was that all about—that calculating look—when she asked him about his wife? Apparently, talking about her was off limits. BJ would try to remember that in the future.

  With a strict adherence to the rules, there wouldn’t be a challenge to her heart. Keeping busy would be the key. And goodness, she had enough work to keep her busy well over a year or more. One cardinal rule … never, ever enter the west wing of the mansion. Once she was moved in, she’d take all her meals either in her room or in her office to avoid any repeat of this afternoon.

  Her out-of-town shoots and Jason’s varied duties on the ranch should keep them on separate paths. And anyway, his wife would keep him occupied after hours. Today was just a fluke and wouldn’t be a repeated without what’s-her-name being present.

  Seeing Jason happily married will do the trick. Eventually, she might become friends with him and his wife. Today just didn’t seem like he was married, that’s why all these mixed feelings.

  The matter settled in her mind, she rolled over, gave her pillow several good punches, and soon became drowsy.

  Startled awake by an eerie sensation that someone was in the room, BJ groped for the night lamp. The light dispelled the darkness and alleviated her fear … no one was there. The notion that someone was or had been in her room still clung to her like a wet shirt.

  Her feet slid from beneath the covers onto the thick carpet. Snatching up her robe, she shrugged into the sleeves, cinching the belt as she moved toward the balcony French doors and found them unlocked.

  An icy chill surged through her body, causing a tingling sensation. Not having checked the doors before going to bed, she couldn’t be sure they had been locked. She shoved the latch home, then twisted the knob and pulled. The doors didn’t budge, but that didn’t mean someone didn’t come through them earlier and might still be in the room. That thought chilled her to the bone.

  Grabbing an empty vase off the dresser, she cautiously walked toward the bath suite. When she passed the chair where she’d laid the jeans and lime green top she’d worn earlier she didn’t see them. A look behind the chair proved her garments hadn’t slid to the floor either.

  At the dressing room entry she flipped the switch lighting the bathroom suite. She gave a quick look about before backing out into the bedroom. Her phone in easy reach, she began dialing 911 then stopped, pocketing her cell without completing the call. Maybe she just thought someone was here. No, she knew where she’d laid her clothes, someone had moved them. Gripping the empty vase, she advanced once again into the bathroom, this time turning on every switch. The shower, the lavatory area both empty. The closet, likewise, but something didn’t look right.

  Her suitcase, in the middle of the closet, gapped open with all her clothes—underwear, jeans, a pink knit top along with the lime green shirt and pants she wore today—were bunched up in a careless manner inside her case. A white slip of paper sat on top of this pile of clothes.

  A quick glance behind her told her she was still alone. Her trembling hand rea
ched for the note before she backed out of the closet.

  The message in bold, black letters mocked her.

  You’re packed. Now leave! And if you know what’s good for you, don’t come back. We don’t want your kind here.

  Chapter 27

  Were these French doors locked?” Officer Lansky’s thick southern drawl grated on BJ’s nerves. An investigation that should have taken no more than a half hour had gone on forever. Pen staged to write, he watched BJ closely for her answer.

  In his late fifties and overweight by fifty pounds, the huge, silver belt buckle of the State of Texas peeked from beneath his overhang. BJ was baffled at how his black cowboy boots could make a clumping sound even on carpet.

  “No. Not when I woke up. I locked them after the fact. I didn’t think to check the doors before I went to bed. I guess I should have. Just never crossed my mind with being on the second floor.”

  “Humph.” He wrote in his little book. “And the note, you found it where?” A clear plastic evidence bag, with the white slip of paper inside, dangled from his fingers.

  “Inside the closet. On top of my clothes.” BJ pointed in the general direction. Thinking about the incident caused a spine-chilling shiver. She didn’t know if she would ever wear those clothes again. Defiled. “They’re still where I found them … in the suitcase in a crumpled heap. Something I would never do to my clothes.”

  Another humph and notation. “Did you notice anything missing?”

  “No. My jewelry is still on the dresser. I didn’t go through the suitcase. I left it like I found it.”

  Officer Lansky took another look around the room. He poked his head inside the bathroom suite, stepped inside the closet moving her things in the suitcase with the tip of his pen. He made a few more notations, snapped the little black book shut, sliding it, along with his pen, in his shirt pocket.