by Sylvie Kurtz
“I don’t need a drink. I need to wring the bastard’s neck.”
“Who’s neck would that be?” Calmly, like a man who knew he had all the time in the world, Garth poured two generous fingers of his best scotch into a cut-crystal glass from the wet bar along the wall before he turned back to face his unexpected guest. The liquor went down smooth and easy.
Carter Paxton ran a hand over his bald head, wiping perspiration as thick as the lava of anger that had brought him fifty miles out of his way. His bull shoulders were rounded forward as if he was going to charge at any second. Heated breaths shot out of his nostrils just short of a snort. Red was creeping up his neck at an alarming rate. “He’s back.”
“Who’s back?” These conversations with his father-in-law were never easy, but were part of the price he paid for his freedom.
“One of the Makepeace brothers.”
The cut-crystal glass stopped halfway to his lips. One of the Makepeace brothers? They were both dead. He’d seen them with his own eyes being swallowed by the river. “Are you sure?”
“Saw him plain as day walking down Center Street. So did half the town.”
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t think I’d recognize the men responsible for my daughter’s condition?”
“Facts—”
“Fact,” Carter punched a fist at the paneled wall, rattling the oil portrait of Garth’s Royal Legacy Ranch, “I know what I saw. And what I saw was a Makepeace.”
“Which one?”
Carter stopped tromping the Persian rug and glared at him. “Does it make a difference?”
Hell, yes, it did. Garth took his place behind the massive walnut desk. Either one could destroy the kingdom he’d built. The difference was that one could be bought; the other would have to be dealt with by using a firmer hand. Buying was easier than killing. And he believed in taking the path of least resistance.
How could the sheriff go off half-cocked like this? What was the point of coming all this way if he didn’t have the facts that would be needed to make a decision? But Garth already knew the answer. “Details make the difference between winnin’ and losin’.”
“Ellen is the way she is because of them.” With each of his steps, Carter’s heels dug half-moons into the plush burgundy-and-navy pile. He’d have to have the carpet raked overnight.
“So why didn’t you wring his neck when you had the chance?” And saved me the trouble. Garth leaned back into his chair, cherishing the creak of butter-soft leather beneath him.
“Ellen.”
With Carter it always came down to Ellen. Ellen and all the soup of emotion she stirred in her father. That’s what happened when someone built their world around one person. How many favors had Carter bought to insure Ellen’s welfare? Too many to count. She was her father’s weakness, and in this case, his weakness was greater than his strength.
Soon Carter would outgrow his usefulness. Careful plans would have to be made when the time came to put the sheriff out of his misery.
“You owe me this one,” Carter said. His nostrils flared more rapidly as his hold over his temper lessened.
“I owe you nothing. I take care of Ellen the way you want me to. I buy her the best of everything.”
Carter tried to stare him down. “I want him out of my town.”
“Then escort him out.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not? You’re the law in Ashbrook.”
Carter’s gaze wavered. “Elections—”
“The town would praise your diligence.”
“I want him dead.”
“Who would fault you for takin’ down a dangerous element?” For acting on your foolish impulses?
Garth despised weak men. Success took planning, and planning required logic. There was no room for emotions. Only when all the precautions were in place could a man afford to indulge himself in the pleasures life had to offer. Carter had never understood that, and that was the true reason he was here today.
“I don’t want to spend my retirement behind bars,” Carter said, and it sounded like a pitiful whine from such a bull of a man.
“No, you’d prefer I do.” Garth drained the glass and poured himself another. He knew his limits. He’d stop at three.
“You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.”
Carter rounded the desk, leaned down and jabbed a finger at Garth’s chest. He brought his red face close enough for Garth to see a capillary pop along Carter’s temple, to smell the scent of fury and fear, to hear the rasp of helplessness with each fetid breath. “Take care of him or I’ll take care of you.”
“Then what would happen to your precious Ellen?”
“I’ve kept records.”
“So have I.”
Once again bested, Carter could do nothing more than retreat. “For all the tight spots I’ve helped you out of—”
“I’ve taken care of Ellen.”
“Then do it for Ellen. She deserved a better life.”
She deserved exactly what she got. He rose and turned his back on the sheriff. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, find out why he’s surfaced after all these years.”
The heavy oak door rattled at Carter’s exit, but Garth’s attention was already elsewhere. A tendril of anticipation unfurled. He’d built himself an empire. Oil. Lumber. Cattle. Real estate. Racehorses. Everything his father had tried and failed. His fortune now measured ten times the one his father had lost. But it had been a long time since anything had been a real challenge.
Kyle or Kent?
Who knew him better than the Makepeace brothers? Who could appreciate how far he’d come more than one of them?
Garth stared out the window at the downtown buildings and the lightning storm reflected in their windows. Trees, in their carefully planned urban landscape, bent and swooped, whipped in all directions by the storm winds.
Kent or Kyle?
How long had it been since he’d felt the thrill of drawing a pat hand out of a stacked deck?
Chapter Five
Taryn had stopped at each small town along the river, shown Chance’s picture to anyone who would look at it and asked about him. Her inquiries had been met mostly with shakes of the head. A time or two, someone had pointed north and she’d moved on, following his crooked trail back and forth across the river.
As she crossed the bridge into Ashbrook, her eyes burned, her head ached and the ginger ale and peanut butter crackers she’d downed while she’d filled up Lucille’s compact car in Magnolia Springs were long gone. Not to mention the driving rain was making it hard for her to see where she was going.
She hated to stop before she found Chance, but she would have to rest before she went on. She couldn’t risk getting into an accident.
Through the gray veil of rain, Ashbrook appeared deserted. No one walked the sidewalks. Hers was the only car moving on the main drag, although there were vehicles parked along the street. Given the nasty weather, that wasn’t surprising.
She stopped at the general store. A clerk with a crown of white hair looked up from his crossword puzzle and gave her a smile. The smile faded as soon as she showed him Chance’s picture.
“Have you seen this man?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly. The clerk turned back to his crossword puzzle and worked hard at ignoring her. To the peppering of rain against the building, she walked the aisles for a few minutes, but found no one else shopping.
Her reception at the antiques shop next door was nearly identical. Showing Chance’s picture had brought her a firm no. Further questions were met with a cold shoulder. The few patrons were all tourists and couldn’t help her.
The experience left her with a bad feeling. Chance had been here. She could sense it. But if any of these people had seen him, why wouldn’t they say so?
As she walked out onto the sidewalk, the rain assaulted her anew, drenching her T-shirt and shorts. As a wave of dizziness swept through her,
one hand tightened around the strap of her purse, the other cradled her belly. Getting back into the car, she decided she needed to eat for the baby’s sake.
The red neon sign at Driller’s Good Eats bragged it was open, so Taryn headed toward an empty parking space. There she could regroup and plot a strategy. And if Ashbrook was anything like Gabenburg, the place should be filled with diners at this time. Someone might be willing to talk.
As she glanced in her rearview mirror, a sheriff’s cruiser flashed on its lights. Instantly, her pulse sped and her heart raced. She’d passed no stop signs, no lights and she knew she’d been going below the speed limit. Why had she been stopped?
With Chance a member of the law enforcement community, she shouldn’t be reacting to being pulled over with sweaty palms and a sense of dread, but she always seemed to shake in the face of authority. A uniform, any uniform—even the mailman’s—put her on the defensive. As the officer called in her tag, she wiped her clammy palms along the front of her wet shorts and tried to calm her nerves.
“Afternoon, ma’am.” The officer’s voice was deep and authoritative. The pelting of rain against his black slicker added a note of menace.
“Good afternoon, Officer.” Hands on the steering wheel, she waited to be told why she’d been pulled over. She hoped her state of anxiety wouldn’t provoke suspicion. She’d done nothing wrong.
The officer leaned an arm over the car’s roof and peered into the half-opened window. There was no heat or humor in his steel-colored eyes. “I’ll need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance.”
His voice was cold enough to draw a shiver. With slow movements so as not to startle the officer into reaching for his gun, she dug the requested documents out of her purse and handed them to him.
“I hear you’ve been asking questions—” He looked at her license. Rain sluiced down the front of his hat, soaking her documents. “—Ms. Conover.”
“I’m looking for my husband.” God, that sounded so pathetic. What would he assume? That she was a jilted wife trying to hang on to her man? Was that so far from the truth?
“He’s missing?”
“Not exactly.” She groaned silently. That wasn’t helping her cause.
“Well, now, you either know where he is or you don’t.”
“I—I’m not sure where he is.” She hated that the officer made her so nervous with his hard eyes and unvoiced accusations.
He examined her documents, looking, it seemed, at every period to find a misplaced one. One square hand with its stubby fingers dangled from the car’s roof, dripping rain onto her thigh. The wide brim of his hat accentuated his broad face and short neck. His slicker strained over his shoulders and chest. Every now and then he gave a cross between a grunt and a snort that reminded her of Billy Ray Brett’s aging bull. Aging or not, though, she wouldn’t want to be cornered by Billy Ray’s bull. He was mean through and through.
“This car is registered to a Lucille Conover,” he said, leaving no doubt he wanted an explanation.
“My mother-in-law lent me her car.” Chance had taken the truck and they had no other vehicle.
“Uh-huh. What’s your husband driving?”
“A black Ford pickup.”
He pointed toward the picture on the passenger’s seat. “Let me see that.”
She handed him the snapshot of Chance taken at the last Memorial Day picnic held at the fire station, and silently blasted the slight shake of her hand. She had done nothing wrong. There was no reason for her to be so nervous.
“That him?” the officer asked.
“Yes, that’s my husband.”
“What did you say his name was?”
She hadn’t. “Chance Conover. He’s the sheriff down in Gabenburg County.”
“Uh-huh. What’s he doing so far out of his territory?”
Was there a good way to explain what had happened to Chance? She’d been there and she still couldn’t quite believe it. “He was in an accident about a week ago.”
“What kind of accident?”
“The doctors say he has traumatic amnesia.” The explanation sounded lame even to her. And if she hadn’t known Chance so well, she might be doubtful, too. “He can’t remember who he is.”
“Uh-huh. Trau-ma-tic amnesia.” He rolled the words in his mouth as if to weigh their truth. “So he ran away?”
“No, not exactly.” She hated the way the officer was making her feel like a fool. On top of that, she didn’t trust him one bit. There was something malicious in the narrowing of his eyes, in the pinching of his features. He was working too hard at hiding the feelings rippling right under his skin. “He’s trying to find out who he is.”
“What makes him think he’ll find the answer here?”
Taryn perked up. “He’s here? You’ve seen him?”
He handed her back the photo and the sopping documents. “We don’t need that kind of trouble here.”
Something wasn’t right. “Trouble? No, he just—”
“I’ll let you go this time.”
Let her go? This time? He hadn’t even told her why he’d stopped her! For Chance’s sake, she swallowed her temper and forced herself to speak evenly. “That’s very kind of you. Chance—”
He tapped the roof with the flat of his palm and pushed himself off. “If I were you, I’d take your husband and leave the area before you regret you ever crossed into Ashbrook.”
There was nothing more she wanted to do than to get Chance safely back home. But if he’d seen the reaction of the people of Ashbrook to his arrival, he would have to stay. He would have to find out why he was being shunned. And if he stayed, she feared no good would come of the answers he’d find.
“I’ll take your suggestion under advisement,” she said, and turned the key. The engine sputtered to life. The wipers flapped a fast tempo. The cold air blasting through the vents raced goose bumps over her arms. “You mentioned you saw my husband.”
“Try the state park outside of town. I’ll let you have one night. Then you’d best be on your way.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a fair man.”
Fair was the last word she’d have used to describe this man. “What is it you think Chance has done?”
He leaned toward her until she could see the cold steel of his eyes tempered with hatred. “He destroyed my life. If I find he’s a Makepeace and not Chance Conover, sheriff of Gabenburg County, I’m going to destroy him.”
“IT’S NOT SAFE for you here.” The rain had gone from frog-strangling heavy to dribs and drabs. In the wake of the afternoon downpour, humidity rose in ghostly snakes from the ground. The air was thick with the scent of wet pine, soaked loam and muddy river. Raindrops bombarded the ground in staccato bursts whenever the hint of a breeze drifted through the trees.
Chance wished Taryn hadn’t found him. He was aware of her so close to him in the cab of his truck, of her hair, of her skin, of how much he wanted to touch them, touch her. And the need evoked a fierce sense of protection he didn’t need right now. It was too confusing to an already muddled mind. “Go on back home.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” She twisted in the seat. Her knee bumped against his thigh, sending an electric charge through him. He jerked his leg away and covered the awkwardness by opening the cab door. “It’s not me that’s in danger. It’s someone named Makepeace. Someone he thinks is you. You should have seen the look in that sheriff’s eyes, Chance. He’s got it in for this Makepeace something fierce.”
“I can handle him.” He could handle anything that wasn’t steeped with emotions. The sheriff and his claim meant nothing to him, except maybe a window to his past. But he wasn’t planning on doing anything as stupid as confronting an angry man. Not without ammunition. Now that he had a possible name, finding an answer should prove easier.
She followed him outside and stood on the other side of the truck. Rain plastered her hair and soaked through her T-shirt, revealing the lace edgi
ng of her bra. He had to look away.
“We’ll handle this together,” she said. “Like we’ve always done.”
“I’m moving on tomorrow. Going up to Lufkin.” Chance rummaged through the truck’s workbox and found the tent and the blue ground cloth he’d spied earlier.
“Lufkin? Why Lufkin?”
“Everyone seems to be in a hurry for me to get there, so I’m going to see what there is to see.”
She dogged his steps as he searched for a flat piece of ground among the loblolly pines of his assigned campsite. Their hands touched as she took one end of the ground cloth. He let the touch linger for a moment before spreading the cloth on the ground.
“There’s nothing but trouble waiting for you here.” Taryn held on to the bottom of the tent bag while he pulled out its contents.
“Which is why you should go home. This is my trouble and I don’t want you hurt by it.”
“I’m already hurt. Every second you’re gone, I’m afraid for you. I need you home.”
He could hear the wound in her voice. He could see the anxiety of uncertainty in the choppy way she extended the shock cording of one of the tent poles. Their movements were mirrors as each ran a pole through opposite guides. “I’ve got to figure out who I am.”
“You’re Chance Conover, husband, friend, sheriff. You belong in Gabenburg where you’re loved.”
He said nothing. Inside him, emptiness rattled in the darkness. A cold sweat bathed him. The dome tent popped into shape. Then she was next to him, handing him a corner of the rain fly.
“If you won’t come home with me, then I’m staying with you.”
The blue of her eyes was clear and true. The determined set of her mouth almost had him smiling. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to know he wasn’t alone in the quagmire his life had become. But he didn’t want to have to worry about her when his mind was already full with a past that preyed on him.
“No.”
“I’ll help you look for whatever it is you’re looking for.”
