by Sara Orwig
“That sums it up. I think you’ll have a difficult time filling half an hour about the house or the people who died in it.”
“We’ll see. I hope you’ll consider a brief interview. Since you’re a Milan, I think it would be of interest.”
“Sorry, the answer’s still the same. No interview. So far, no occasion has ever arisen in Verity that warrants an interview from me, other than just answering brief questions for the news. And that’s the way I hope it remains. I wouldn’t be that interesting, anyway.”
“I differ on that topic. I’m not accustomed to getting turned down.”
Wyatt gave her a quick glance. “I’m sure that’s the truth. I imagine you’re accustomed to getting what you want from men.”
“Most of the time, I do. So far, you’re proving to be an exception, but I hope I can change your mind.”
He glanced over at her. “It all depends on what you want from me,” he said, a husky note coming into his voice that gave her the satisfaction of knowing he had some kind of reaction to her.
“Wyatt,” she said, “you haven’t discouraged me. I still hope to get an interview from you. I know it would be interesting.”
“You’d be surprised how dull I can get. Ask a local reporter. Their eyes glaze over sometimes, but it shortens interviews.”
She laughed softly again. “I don’t think you really do that—at least I would guess it is rare. I’m still going for an interview of my own.” She received another glance and this time his crystal-blue eyes darkened slightly and the look he gave her raised the temperature in the car.
“You go ahead and try,” he said in a deep voice that made her heart race.
“So that doesn’t scare you?” she asked.
“Hardly. It’ll be interesting to see you bargain for an interview,” he replied. He shook his head. “The evening has definitely taken a turn for the better.”
“We’ll see,” she replied.
Leaning back in the seat, she gave thought to the situation. Wyatt wasn’t reacting to her the way the majority of men did. She had grown up knowing that she was not the pretty daughter in her family. Desirée was breathtakingly beautiful and had been so all her life. Destiny had unruly red hair, was tall, but not stunning in her physical appearance, especially during her awkward teen years, but from an early age, she had learned to please and charm those around her to get what she wanted. With her relatives, she had poured out her love, being cooperative, obedient, helpful and turning on the sweetness when she needed to. During her later teens with boys her age, she had flirted, and it hadn’t taken much to melt them into hopeful males eager to please her.
It shocked her that, so far, Wyatt had resisted her smiles and easy requests.
She studied his profile, the firm jaw, prominent cheekbones, a slight bump near the bridge of his nose. He was not what she had expected and she was having a reaction to him that surprised and disturbed her.
“Do you have other places in Texas that you’ll visit?” he asked.
“Not at this time.”
As she watched him drive, he gave her a quick glance. “So how is Desirée?” he asked.
“She’s fine. She recently married.”
“I saw that she did. I hope she’s very happy.”
“I’ll tell her you said that.”
“Does she know you’re in Verity?”
“Yes, she does. From what I hear, you’re still single, which surprises me.”
“Now why would that surprise you?” he asked.
“You’re handsome, in your early thirties, appealing, influential and well-known. I’m sure every female in this county knows you. If we consider just the single ladies, I’d guess the ones in this county plus the next three or four counties know you. Texas women are beautiful. The elements are right for you to fall in love and marry.”
He smiled without taking his attention from the road. “You’d think, but it hasn’t happened.”
“So there’s no one you had to explain to about taking me to dinner tonight?”
“No, there isn’t. By the way, while you’re here, two of my brothers want to meet you. They saw you on TV today, and one of them has read your last book.”
“Well, I’m happy to discuss my book with anyone who is interested,” she replied. “So my book is why they want to meet me?”
“Not altogether,” Wyatt replied. “It’s part of the reason. I imagine every man in Verity would like to meet you. And maybe every male over fifteen in the next four or five counties,” he said.
“I take it your brothers are single.”
“One is widowed and the other is my single, youngest brother, so you’re right. Nick lost his pregnant wife. He’s still hurting pretty badly. It’s been a rough time for him and he’s not dating anyone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, startled about the loss in Wyatt’s family. “I don’t think Desirée knew that.”
“There’s no reason for her to keep up with Nick, and that hadn’t happened when she was here.”
Destiny gazed out the window, taken aback once again by seeing a more serious side to Wyatt. Now that she was getting to know him a little, she wanted to be more up-front with him and thought about the right moment to reveal her genealogy. “Well, I, for one, have been curious about you. There aren’t many men who can upset my sister.”
“I’m sorry if I did, but I don’t think it was devastating since she was married within the year—I believe her first marriage. In the three years since we dated, isn’t this marriage number two? I don’t think she’s been pining away over me.”
“Perhaps not. It’s too bad. Now that I’ve met you, I imagine you would have had a settling influence on her. A sheriff, rock solid, mid-America, a Texan. How the two of you got together in the first place, I can’t imagine,” she added. “You don’t look the type to be knocked off your feet simply because she’s a movie star.”
“You have that much right,” he said, smiling again. “Look again at your sister. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. You’re one of the most stunning. And she flirts outrageously, which I’m sure you already know.”
“Thank you. My sister is beautiful. She’s been beautiful from the day she was born.” After a moment of silence, Destiny turned to him. “You were rather laid-back today. Do you ever get upset, Sheriff?”
“Sure, when things get bad enough. Most of the time in Verity, there’s nothing bad enough.”
“So my reporting about the Wrenville house murders isn’t bad enough to get you riled up?”
“Not so far,” he said. “Maybe your quest is annoying, but not critical. We’ll see as time goes by.”
She saw that the buildings on Main Street had given way to houses. Heading east, they passed two blocks of wooden Victorian-style homes, some single story, some two or three stories with tall trees that had thick trunks in what looked like an old part of town.
“We have passed most of Verity’s restaurants. Where are we going?”
“To the airport. We’ll fly to Dallas to eat. You have no objection to that, do you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “So you’ll avoid the press for the rest of the night.”
“I sure hope so,” he replied, “and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“If it did, I don’t think you’d turn around and go back,” she said, amused. “So the sheriff of Verity has his own plane. Interesting.”
“Actually, it’s mutually owned by me and my siblings. We all have ranches and want to be able to come and go, so we bought two planes and hired pilots and the necessary employees. I have my own pilot’s license, as do my brothers Nick and Tony. It’s worked out great.”
“Nice, if you can afford it.” She looked out at the passing scenery. “I recall we came into town
this way so we should be passing the Wrenville house. There it is,” she said, looking at a wooden three-story home surrounded by a three-foot wrought-iron fence and a front gate hanging on one hinge. She noticed several of the windows had been broken out.
“Just an old, empty house that the town will own shortly,” Wyatt said. “Nothing exciting there. And there can’t be any clues in it about the three men who died there.”
“You don’t discourage me. It’s more interesting than that.” Destiny said, taking in the weeds and high grass that filled the yard while the two tall oaks by the house were overgrown with vines. “No, I’m excited, filled with curiosity. Sometimes it’s surprising what my show stirs up. Maybe someone will come forth with information that has been passed down through the generations. A Milan and a Calhoun both in love with the same woman and both shot dead over her, along with her father—that’s an interesting unsolved mystery. You have to admit it.”
“Interesting to an outsider, I suppose, but we don’t need the old feud stirred up. As generations pass it has weakened and with my generation, I think the feud is dying. I want it to die. We’re a quiet little town. I don’t want to see that disturbed needlessly.”
“A quiet little town with a high percentage of millionaires,” she said. She realized she had never known anyone as protective of his hometown and his family and she had to respect Wyatt for that.
“West Texas is good cattle and oil country, plus a few other businesses that have done well here,” he replied.
In minutes he turned along a narrow asphalt road and shortly she saw two hangars and a control tower ahead. A jet was outside and she assumed it would be the plane they would take to Dallas.
Wyatt picked up his phone to talk to his pilot, letting him know they were almost there, and she tingled with anticipation, looking forward to an evening with Wyatt Milan. She wondered what he would think when he learned she was a Calhoun. He acted as if he thought the old feud should die, but she barely knew him. When it involved him personally, would he still think the feud should end? Mimi had painted such a dark picture of the Milans as dishonest, crafty and manipulative that Destiny had expected a man far different from the Milan she was getting to know tonight. None of those descriptions fit Wyatt. Far from it. Honest, straightforward, hoping for good—he embodied admirable qualities. She loved Mimi and they were close, but her grandmother was wrong about this Milan.
Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Strong, firm, his lips made her wonder if he would kiss her tonight. The chemistry between them was exciting. She felt it, and she was certain he did, too. Could she kiss him into agreeing to an interview?
Three
As they reached the plane, Wyatt stopped near a brown-haired man with touches of gray in his hair. He smiled at Destiny.
“Destiny, meet our pilot, Jason Whittaker. Jason, this is Ms. Jones from Chicago.”
“It’s Destiny,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m happy to meet you and looking forward to the flight.”
“Unsolved Mysteries,” Jason said and Destiny’s smile broadened. Wyatt watched her step forward and charm his pilot who could not take his gaze from her. Wyatt could understand. She’d stolen his breath when she had appeared at the top of the stairs at the hotel. The woman knew how to make a grand entrance. Every man in the hotel lobby had been watching her and Wyatt had heard an audible sigh from several who were standing near him when she appeared. She wasn’t the delicate, perfect beauty her sister was. Instead, she was hot, sexual, lush, with a voluptuous body, a come-hither look and unruly red hair that looked as if she had just left a romp in bed. How was he going to keep denying her an interview or discouraging her from the Wrenville house? She left him tongue-tied, on fire, unable to think clearly, torn between wanting to seduce her and hoping she would pack up and go. Never had a woman rocked him like this one.
“We have good weather,” the pilot remarked, pulling Wyatt from his reverie.
“Let’s get going,” Wyatt said, taking her arm and boarding the plane. The moment he touched her, the casual contact electrified him. Her perfume deepened his awareness of her at his side. He motioned to a seat and as she sat near a window and buckled herself in, he sat facing her.
She looked out the window and the plane began to taxi away from the hangar. When they were airborne and headed southeast, she turned to Wyatt.
“So tell me the history of the Lavita Wrenville house.”
“In the early days Verity was a hub for cattle ranchers. The Wrenville family was successful and built their big home. Lavita’s father still had eastern interests and was partners with his brother in a large bank in Boston. At one time, according to legend or family history, the Wrenvilles were enormously wealthy—in a time and place where there were an unusually high number of wealthy families.”
“The Milans and the Calhouns included, right?”
“Yes. According to local history, the Milans made a fortune with cattle and ranching. I guess that’s where I get my love of ranching. So did the Calhouns. From the earliest days, I think the Calhouns and Milans clashed over land, cattle, water, running the town, all sorts of reasons, including the women they loved, so the feud started.”
“I think I’m getting the short version of Milan and Wrenville history.”
“You’re getting the only version I have,” he remarked.
“Sorry, I interrupted you. Go ahead.”
“As local history goes, the Wrenvilles gradually amassed more money than anyone else in town. Hubert Wrenville had cattle, land, the big bank, the feed store, the biggest saloon.”
“Was this Lavita’s father?”
“Yes. Finally, there was only Lavita Wrenville who lived alone in the house. She was an eccentric old maid who did not want anyone to inherit or buy the house. Lavita deeded the property, house, stable, outbuildings and all personal property in those buildings to Verity with the stipulation that the property is not to be sold or changed until next year. At that time the Wrenville property and everything on it will revert totally to Verity to do with as it pleases. I imagine the town will sell the property if they can. That’s what is in Lavita’s official will and she was the last surviving Wrenville.”
“Ah, I see. So what about information regarding the murders or a fortune she amassed and hid somewhere in the house?”
“I think that’s just rumors, legend, wishful thinking of people way back and handed down through generations. There’s nothing in the will about either one.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Maybe I’ll do a show on Lavita Wrenville and the unsolved killings and then come back next year.”
“You might consider just coming then. I don’t think you’ll find much of interest now. I’ve just told you everything about it. I don’t think there’s a fortune or a letter that revealed what happened.”
“Suppose I search and find a fortune and a letter revealing what happened the night of the murders?”
“You wouldn’t be the first to search. But there’s nothing in her will about a fortune or a letter. That’s legend.”
“You really don’t want me here, do you?” she asked, smiling slightly.
He leaned close, looking into her big green eyes that widened. “Oh, yes, I want you here. I have plans for tonight. From the moment I walked into my office and saw you, I’ve wanted you here,” he said in a husky tone that was barely above a whisper.
She leaned in a fraction, so close they were almost touching, and he fought the urge to close the distance and kiss her. “Then we should have an interesting evening because I’ve been looking forward to tonight since we parted this afternoon,” she whispered. Her words were slow, sultry, increasing the sexual tension between them. As they gazed at each other, again he was hot, tied in knots with desire, yet at the same time aware of the clash of wills between them.
She smiled and sat back. �
�This should be an interesting evening.”
“I’ll admit, you’re not like other women I’ve known.”
“That’s a relief,” she said and he gave her a faint smile.
“Tell me about the murders. All I know is that Lavita’s father, a Milan and a Calhoun all were shot to death.”
Wyatt settled back, inhaled deeply and tried to get his wits about him. “All I’ve ever heard is that Lavita had two men in love with her—unfortunately, a Milan and a Calhoun. The feud had been in existence through at least two generations by then, so it was going strong and the two men did not speak to each other. The night of the shootings, they both called on her at the same time and neither would leave. She was upset. The men were angry and according to the old story, they were going to fight and pistols were drawn. Her father heard the argument, appeared and mixed in the struggle. Terrified what would happen, Lavita ran to get their stable keeper. As she rushed back to the house, shots were fired. According to the story, all three men were armed and had fired at each other, killing each other.”
“So far, that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Some stories say that, on her deathbed, Lavita admitted that one of the men was still alive and conscious when she returned to the house and told Lavita what happened before he died. At the time of the murders, she had stated they were all dead by the time she got back.”
“Couldn’t the stable keeper verify her story?”
Wyatt smiled. “Remember, this was the late 1800s and the story has been passed down by word of mouth since. According to the story, the stable keeper went to get his pistol and was far enough behind Lavita that all three men were dead when he arrived at the scene. The three men died that night, presumably shortly after the shooting. And Lavita never revealed anyone talked to her until she was on her deathbed. Until then, she claimed she didn’t know what had happened after she ran out of the house to get help.”
“If that’s the true story about what happened, it makes one wonder what she was told and why she hid it from the world. Nowadays, withholding information would put her behind bars.”
