by Linda Warren
And a part of her was searching for a closer relationship with her father. She felt she barely knew this man who most people seemed to fear, including her at times. Her mother died when Alex was two so she never knew her. She yearned for a family connection, a normal life and a deeper father-daughter relationship.
They’d been partners for two years and Buck criticized, ridiculed and browbeat her at every turn. She gave as good as she got, but what did that say about her—that she was a glutton for punishment? Or maybe, like Mrs. Braxton, she still believed in fantasy, fairy tales and a happy ending.
She placed one hand on her hip. “You’re a detective. Can’t you figure out why it’s so hot in here?”
“Damn. It’s out again.”
“You got it.”
Buck swiped an arm across his forehead. “Did you call that damn repair man?”
She took a long breath. “Yes. Bert said he’d be here in the morning.”
“In the morning!” The earsplitting exclamation almost shifted the pictures on the walls. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”
“It’s July in Texas. He’s busy.”
“You have to learn to push, girl. You’re too damn soft. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
She kept her temper in check. “Feel free to push all you want. I’m going home where it’s cool.”
“Bert’ll have his ass over here by this afternoon.” Buck headed for his office, then stopped. “Who were those women I saw leaving?”
“Mrs. Helen Braxton and her daughter. She hired me to find her son.”
“What?” One eyebrow jerked upward in surprise.
“Her son was stolen from a hospital almost forty years ago when he was two days old.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Why would you take such a case? Call her and tell her you’ve changed your mind. We’re working on those cases for the district attorney and that’s where our attention should be—where the money is. Get your head out of the clouds.”
She stiffened her backbone, which was an effort in the heat. “I have no intention of doing any such thing.”
“Don’t talk back to me, girl. Just do what I tell you. You put yourself through hell when you found that murdered girl. A cop learns never to put his heart into those kinds of cases, but you had to learn the hard way.”
She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Yes. I did, but I don’t regret my involvement in the Woodly case. The perpetrator is behind bars for the rest of his insane life and the parents have finally moved on. They had another child last year. I get a card every Christmas from them. You’re right, though. I do get emotionally involved, but I’m older now and much stronger, especially after working with you.”
He nodded, taking the words as a compliment. “I told you I’d put some grit in your gizzard.”
Alex grimaced. “That sounds very painful. I’d rather have chocolate in my gizzard; it’s a whole lot sweeter.”
“Heaven forbid.” Buck rolled his eyes. “Women!”
“And just so you understand me—I’ll work on any case I want. If I get emotionally involved, well, that’s my choice.”
Her response was met with a scowl, but no scathing remarks were forthcoming.
“Mrs. Braxton thinks she’s already found her son. I just have to prove that this man is or isn’t the right man. Very easy case.”
“Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with our work.”
“I’ll do it in my spare time. It’s not like I have a social life or a family.”
“If you moved out on your own, maybe you would.”
“And who would keep you and Naddy from killing each other?”
“Your grandmother can hold her own, she doesn’t need you to protect her.”
Nadene and Buck did not have a typical mother-son relationship. Buck was the result of a teenage pregnancy and Naddy had been married so many times that it was hard to keep track.
Her grandmother drank, smoked and loved to have a good time. Though Buck was a lot like her, he did not appreciate those qualities in his mother. As a bail bondsman, Naddy had led a colorful life. At seventy-eight, she was now retired. Her days were spent surfing the Internet for criminals. She did a lot of research on missing children and had even helped to find a couple.
When Alex was younger she used to wish her grandmother was more conventional, yet she had always been comforted by the thought that whatever she had to go through in this world, Naddy would be behind her all the way.
“Thought the old battle-ax would have moved out by now.” Buck’s voice brought her back to the conversation. “Hell, she’s gone ten years without getting married. That has to be a record.”
“She’s getting older. I think Naddy is with us to stay.”
“Ain’t that a helluva thing. She was never there for me as a kid and now I’m supposed to take care of her.”
Alex watched the man who was her father. With his crew cut hairstyle, shaggy gray eyebrows, slant for a mouth and sagging features, Buck Donovan was as hard as they come. Naddy had a part in making him that way but Alex wondered what kind of feelings he had for her, his own daughter. Buck probably couldn’t define them himself. And asking him would be a mortal sin, she was sure.
She caught his eyes. “She was there for me when my mother died. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Maybe. Might be the only reason she’s still in my house.”
That comment was like a crumb to a starving person and she savored it as such. Those crumbs were few and far between.
“I’ll see you at home.”
Was she pathetic or what? Thirty-four years old and still living at home with her father and her grandmother. She needed a life. Bad.
S HE NEGOTIATED the Dallas traffic the same way she’d handled her father—with a large dose of patience and gritted teeth. She turned off US-75 and headed for the Lake Highlands suburb where they lived, her body greedily soaking up the coolness of the car’s air-conditioning.
She had a love-hate relationship with the Texas summers. She loved them when she was relaxing on the beach in Galveston or Padre Island, but she hated them in the trenches of Dallas. There weren’t many opportunities to get away for a weekend—Buck believed in her keeping her nose to the grindstone—but if she could find one, she’d take it. All her girlfriends were married, though, and had families. Her relationship with her cop boyfriend, Clay, had ended about a year ago.
Single, unattached and feeling my age. Maybe she should have that made into a bumper sticker. Or, better, single and available . That would certainly draw attention.
She turned into the driveway with a smile. Getting out, she glanced at the rows of brick houses built in the sixties. Buck and her mother Joan had bought their house right after they’d married. They had a large corner lot and Buck had a shop in back where he kept his boat and fishing paraphernalia.
White Rock Lake wasn’t far away and when she was younger she’d spent a lot of time hanging out at the lake with her friends. This had been Alex’s home all her life, but she knew it was time for her to move on—perhaps to find that elusive happiness she’d always been searching for.
Placing her purse and briefcase on the hood of her Jeep Wrangler, she turned on the sprinkler for the wilted Saint Augustine grass, making sure the water reached the blooming crepe myrtles. Alex took care of the yard. Any calls for help from Buck or Naddy she found to be a waste of her time. The sun beat down on her bare head and after the heat of the morning she did something she wouldn’t normally do. She ran through the sprinkler, laughing not caring if the neighbors were watching.
By the time she entered the house, her skin wa
s almost dry. Her clothes were damp from sweat so the extra water didn’t make a difference. The air-conditioning felt wonderful on her wet skin. Pure bliss.
Laying her things on the kitchen table, she saw Naddy sitting at her computer through the open door of her bedroom. Buck’s bedroom was on the right side of the house and Naddy’s on the left, a house clearly divided. Alex occupied the bedroom upstairs and had her private space.
“Hey, Naddy, I’m home,” she called, grabbing a Popsicle out of the freezer.
“Come here, honeychild. I want to show you something.”
Alex walked to Naddy’s bedroom, licking on the icy treat. It was her favorite snack in the summertime, cool, refreshing and…She stopped in Naddy’s doorway. Her bedroom was a disaster. She really shouldn’t be surprised because Naddy tended not to pick up anything.
Buck, on the other hand, was neat and organized. A gene he obviously got from his “low-life loser father” as Naddy often said.
Alex stepped over a pile of dirty clothes. Trying to change her grandmother would be like trying to change the course of the wind or the Texas heat.
“What?” Alex asked, trying to ignore the dirty clothes hanging off of chairs and lying all over the floor. The tumbled sheets partially hid an empty Doritos bag. A couple of empty beer cans stood on the nightstand beside a jar of nuts.
“Look.” Naddy pointed to the screen, squinting at it through the glasses perched on her nose. A tall, big-boned woman, Naddy once had sandy red hair. Now it was completely white, short and stuck out in all directions, mainly because Naddy always forgot to comb it. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, the skin of a smoker. An unlit cigarette dangled from her lip.
“Why is there a cigarette in your mouth?” Buck had strict rules about smoking in the house. Joan had made them when Alex was born and Buck kept to them, even though he smoked. He always smoked outdoors and Alex had a feeling he adhered to the rule to annoy Naddy.
“Keep your britches on, honeychild. I was going outside to light up when I found this. Tell me what you think. The baby on the left disappeared fourteen years ago in Houston. The girl on the right was found dead in an alley in Vegas last week. Look at the faces. I think it’s the same girl.” Her voice was excited.
Alex studied the faces. “Very similar.”
“I want to contact the authorities in Vegas, but I need a drag first.” Naddy stood and brushed crumbs off of her flowered housedress. “What are you doing home this time of the day and why are you all wet?”
Alex took a bite of the Popsicle. “The air’s out again.”
Naddy smiled. “Biting that Popsicle reminds me of when you were six years old. I’d tell you not to eat them so fast that they’d give you a headache, but you never listened.”
“I think I’m always going to be six years old,” she replied in a melancholy voice. Living at home and yearning for love.
“Bite your tongue.” Naddy rummaged through a stack of papers on her desk. “Ethel’s grandson is in town and I told her you’d go out with him.”
Alex shook her head. “No. You are not setting me up for another date. Never again will I do that. I can get my own dates, thank you.”
Naddy looked indignant. “What was wrong with the last date I got you?”
“He brought his mother with him.”
Naddy grimaced. “Oh, yeah. That was out of the ordinary.”
“And stupid, insane, weird, creepy and…”
“Okay, okay. I’ll stay out of your affairs. I don’t have good taste in men anyway.”
“Amen.”
They eyed each other and laughed, then Alex hugged her grandmother. That was one of the things she loved about Naddy. She brought laughter to Alex’s life.
Naddy drew back. “Your skin is hot.”
“I’ve been sitting in a oven, which is what the office is at the moment.”
“That cheapskate son of mine needs to put in a new unit.”
Alex shrugged. “You know Buck.”
Naddy pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Hmmph.”
“Good luck identifying the girl.” Alex glanced around the room. “Tonight we’re doing laundry and maybe we’ll fumigate this room.”
“Yeah. Whatever. But first I have to keep digging on the Vegas case until I annoy the hell out of somebody, then they’ll pay attention to me.” Naddy hurried out of the room to smoke her cigarette.
Naddy had bulldog instincts, just like her son, and most of the time she got results. Alex had a feeling she got her caring gene from Naddy. Her grandmother was always trying to help people.
Alex retrieved her briefcase and purse and headed upstairs to take a shower and to work. By late afternoon she had a lot of information on Brodie Hayes. He’d earned lots of accolades. His bull-riding career started in high school. Even while attending Texas A&M University he kept riding and winning. At nineteen he went professional. All sorts of endorsements came his way including Wrangler, Budweiser and Ford trucks. Brodie Hayes seemed to have it all. He retired years ago and now owned a ranch, like Helen had said. He was single and had never been married.
Staring at his picture, she found that fact more than interesting. Why was a handsome hunk like that still unattached? One answer came to mind, but she pushed it away. He was too masculine and…That meant absolutely nothing. She kept searching.
His father was a general in the U.S. Army and his mother was an army wife who followed her husband all over the world. Nothing about his life looked out of the ordinary, but one thing caught Alex’s attention. Travis Braxton was born five days after Brodie Hayes in the same hospital in Dallas. How weird was that? Could that just be a coincidence?
She mulled this over for about thirty minutes, then she knew what she had to do. She had Brodie Hayes’s address and somehow, someway she would get a DNA sample from him.
Chapter Two
Alex had told Mrs. Braxton that she could handle the investigation discreetly and that’s what she planned to do. First, she would meet Brodie Hayes and take it from there.
Finding his ranch wasn’t a problem—she’d gotten the exact directions from the Internet. She took I-635 then US-80 and traveled down a blacktop road until she reached the entrance to the Cowboy Up Ranch. Driving over a cattle guard, she noticed red-and-white-faced cattle lying beneath oak trees. Others were grazing in the heat or drinking from a water trough.
A ranch-style frame house loomed in front of her, a pipe fence separating it from the pasture. There were corrals and barns to the right. Everything was quiet, no activity anywhere. She parked on the side of the house and got out. Two gray-and-white dogs loped toward her.
Her breath wedged in her throat as they sniffed at her feet. “Hi there,” she said. The dogs barked and she forced herself not to show fear or jump back. “Hello to you, too,” she responded as brightly as she could. When the dogs trotted back to the barn, she let out a tight breath. Evidently they didn’t consider her a threat. Thank God.
She walked up the stone walk to the door. There was no doorbell, so she knocked.
The wooden veranda-type porch stretched along the front of the white house. Horseshoes welded together made sturdy columns. Two wrought-iron chairs with denim seats graced both sides of the door. An inviting swing hung from the rafters. Although shrubbery grew against the house, the neatly mowed yard showed no signs of flowers or flowerbeds. All telltale signs this was the home of a bachelor.
No one came to the door. The thought of breaking in crossed her mind. She could be in and out in less than two minutes with something with his DNA on it, but she wasn’t quite ready to go to those lengths. When she was about to give up she saw a white pickup barreling her way.
She just got lucky.
&nb
sp; B RODIE H AYES had had one of those days and he was relieved to get back to his place, his own home. Spending time with his mother left him feeling as if he’d been kicked in the stomach by a two-thousand-pound bull. He was raw, sore and a little dazed.
His parents had never understood him and the years hadn’t made a difference. He was always acutely aware that he was a big disappointment to both of them.
At five, Brodie was riding his mother’s broom as a horse. His father took it away from him and made him use it as a gun. As a kid he didn’t understand that—he didn’t want a gun. He wanted to ride a horse. When he was six, he asked Santa for cowboy boots. He didn’t get them and he stopped believing in Santa Claus.
The years his father was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, were the happiest time of Brodie’s life. He’d made a friend, Colter Kincaid, whose family lived on a ranch and Brodie loved to visit. He learned to ride a horse and he went to rodeos with them. Following that first rodeo, he was hooked. The massive bulls held his attention. He and Colter started riding in the junior rodeos. To enter, Brodie forged his father’s signature because he knew his parents wouldn’t approve.
That first ride he was bucked into the dirt so hard that the wind left his body. But that only spurred his interest, making him determined to complete the eight-second ride. He would secretly enter the local rodeos, never telling his parents how he was spending his spare time. When Brodie started to win, he didn’t count on the news being in the papers.
His father was furious and grounded him. Tom Hayes believed in strict discipline and lying was definitely against the family rules. Brodie caved into the pressure and agreed to apply to Texas A&M. He majored in agriculture economics, much to his father’s disapproval.
In college he rodeoed on the weekends and he told his parents. They didn’t like it, but as long as he was in college they didn’t complain. And Brodie had turned eighteen so his decisions were his own. As he kept winning he knew what he wanted to do with his life. Tom’s wishes were for Brodie to go into the army, but Brodie knew that life wasn’t for him.
