by Janet Dailey
Doubtless they’d work it out. Natalie and Beau were too much in love to let that kind of roadblock stand in their way. Sky had noticed the secret glances they exchanged and wondered idly if a woman would ever look at him with that kind of tender passion. Not likely, he conceded. But if he had to settle for something less, the naked lust that had flashed in Lauren Prescott’s copper-flecked cat eyes wasn’t a bad substitute. She’d looked at him as if she wanted to eat him alive. And she damn near had. He wouldn’t mind giving her another chance. But chasing after a woman wasn’t his style. Any rematch would be up to the lady.
With the sun gone, the night air was, if not cool, at least tolerable for walking a few blocks down Main Street to the Blue Coyote at the far end. There wasn’t much traffic, either on the road or on the sidewalks. Probably some big sporting event on TV, which would mean customers crowding around the 52-inch screen above the bar in the Blue Coyote. At least he’d be able to circulate without drawing much attention.
As Sky had expected, the Blue Coyote’s parking lot was full and the bar was jammed. On the TV screen was a regional championship bull riding competition. Since some local cowboys were involved, there was a lot of whooping, cheering, and informal betting. There was no place to sit. Sky found an empty place to stand near the door and looked around.
Nigel, the tattooed skinhead who served as bartender and bouncer, was filling glasses as fast as his customers could empty them. Stella, who owned the bar, was busy playing hostess.
“Hello, Blue Eyes! Where’ve you been keeping yourself?” She’d spotted Sky through the crowd and was working her way toward him. A handsome, buxom female in her forties with flame-dyed hair and overdone makeup, she looked—and acted—like the town floozy. But Sky knew better than to underestimate her. Nothing escaped those sharp, absinthe eyes.
“What’s your pleasure? I’ll see that you get it pronto. And if you’d like to stick around till after closing . . .” She winked, then laughed, leaving a wisp of doubt that her outrageous flirting had been a joke. For a woman who’d been sleeping with Hoyt Axelrod, and who surely knew he was dead, she didn’t seem to be grieving much. Sky wouldn’t put it past her to have ordered the ex-sheriff killed.
But as he already knew, there wasn’t a shred of proof against the woman.
Sky fished a bill out of his wallet. “I’ll have a Corona,” he said. “No need to bring the glass.”
“You’ve got it, honey!” Turning, she snapped her fingers to catch the ear of the busy waitress. “Over here! A bottle of Corona for my handsome friend!”
Following her gaze through the crowd, Sky glimpsed the waitress from behind. Tall and boyishly lean, her stringy, black hair twisted up with a plastic clip, she was dressed in ragged jeans and a black T-shirt. He didn’t remember having seen her before, but he hadn’t been to town in a while. Waitresses tended not to last long at the Blue Coyote. Stella drove them hard, and the men, some at least, considered the girls fair game.
The new girl had vanished in the direction of the bar. Stella lingered next to Sky, greeting people as they walked in the door. She was a shrewd businesswoman and made it a point to know her customers. Some she gave nicknames. Sky had been “Blue Eyes” from the first time she noticed him.
The waitress was coming back, balancing Sky’s beer, along with other drinks, on a tray held above the heads of the crowd. Sky’s gaze traveled from the tray, down her upraised arm to her face—strong-boned with fierce, black eyes and a thin, white scar, like the slash of a knife, running down the left side from temple to chin.
Years had passed since he’d last seen her, but Sky’s heart slammed with the shock of recognition. His eyes searched for, and found, the tiny white mark in the center of her forehead, a souvenir of the time she’d fallen as a toddler and struck a sharp rock. The years had changed her, and not for the better. But there could be no room for doubt.
It was Marie.
CHAPTER 5
Sky waited for some sign of recognition, but Marie’s scarred face was a mask of indifference. There was no way she wouldn’t know him, but for some reason she kept it to herself. Until he learned more, he’d be wise to play along.
Lowering the tray, she handed him the open bottle. He passed her the ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Keep the change,” he said.
“Thanks.” Something flickered in her eyes as she turned away—a cold, animal wariness.
Stella lingered beside him, a sphinxlike smile on her painted face. Did she know her waitress was the sister of Lute Fletcher, the twenty-one-year-old boy she’d hired and likely set up to be murdered by Hoyt Axelrod? Stella Rawlins was a master manipulator who played her cards close to her ample bosom. If she suspected the truth, Marie could be in more danger than she knew.
With a saucy parting smile, Stella sashayed off to tend to other customers. Finding a newly emptied table, Sky sat down to finish his beer and wait for Will’s phone call. He glimpsed Marie weaving her way through the crowd, but she didn’t try to come near him or even to make eye contact.
Whatever cards life had dealt her, she must’ve had a rough time of it. The nervous eyes, the slashing scar, and the fact that she’d taken this menial job spoke more than words about her condition.
There was no way her showing up here could be a coincidence. But had she come to Blanco Springs to avenge her brother, or for some even darker purpose? Had she dropped the pocketknife by accident, or had she left it for Sky to find, knowing it would lead him to her?
And what was her connection to Jasper’s shooting?
So many questions. And his only hope of getting answers was to talk with Marie alone. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight—not with the bar packed, Stella on alert, and Will due to pick him up soon. His best chance would be to come back here tomorrow, before the night crowd gathered, maybe pass her a note and arrange a discreet meeting somewhere.
And then what? If he didn’t like her story, he would have some hard decisions to make. Blood cousin or not, his first loyalty was to the Tylers. But when he thought of Marie, it was that sad-eyed little girl, begging him not to leave, who came to mind. If the ugly truth demanded it, could he turn his back on her again? If she gave him her trust, could he use it to betray her?
He needed to decide now, before he got pulled in any deeper. If the answer was no, he’d be better off walking away tonight and forgetting he’d seen her.
Will dropped Beau off at Natalie’s house on the far edge of town. As he watched his brother stride up the walk, a spring of anticipation in his step, he couldn’t suppress a twinge of envy. It had been a long time since he’d spent a night making love to the woman he adored, drifting off to sleep in her arms and waking up to the sweet sight of her face on the pillow.
But Tori had made her decision. So had he, and there was nothing more to be said. At least they had Erin to show for their train wreck of a marriage. Their daughter had been worth it all.
Tori’s split-level frame house was ten minutes from Natalie’s. The two women had gone through school together and were fast friends, along with Beau, who was the same age. Will, six years older, had never been a part of their tightly knit gang of three. Even as a teenager his duties on the ranch had come first, before friends, fun, sports, and social life. In the end, that had been part of the problem with Tori. But not all of it.
Forcing the thought aside, he pulled the pickup into the driveway. Switching off the ignition and the lights, he mounted the porch steps and rang the front doorbell. Over the years, he and Tori had arrived at an armed truce, which they maintained for their daughter’s sake. They rarely clashed these days, but the tension Will felt every time he was about to see her would never go away.
By mutual agreement, Erin’s summers were spent on the ranch with Will. This week, however, a dentist appointment and a friend’s birthday party, along with Jasper’s crisis, had made it more convenient for her to stay with her mother. Will had missed her. In a life of responsibility and hard work, Erin was his sunshine.<
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“Hello, Will.” Tori opened the door, wearing faded jeans and a striped cotton shirt, unbuttoned far enough to show the barest glimpse of cleavage. Her blond hair was caught back in a loose ponytail. The wire-rimmed glasses she wore for close reading were perched on her nose. Her feet were bare. She looked damned sexy, Will thought. But that notion was best kept to himself.
“Come in,” she said, shifting her glasses to the top of her head. “Erin’s upstairs getting ready. She’ll be down in a few minutes. Meanwhile, we need to talk.”
“Is something the matter?” Will followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, which tonight was cluttered with open law books and legal briefs.
“Not really. Just a change you need to be aware of. Would you like some iced tea?”
Will shook his head. What change was she talking about? Was she planning to move? Maybe even get remarried? He braced himself as she puttered in the kitchen, putting a carton of milk in the fridge, a glass in the open dishwasher. Was the woman trying to drive him crazy?
“How’s Jasper?” she asked.
“As feisty as an old badger. Bernice talked with him on the phone a couple of hours ago.”
“So Bernice isn’t at the hospital now?” She added two spoons to the rack in the dishwasher.
“No, she’s home. For God’s sake, stop fussing and sit down!”
Tori closed the dishwasher and took a seat across from him. “I tried to talk Erin into staying here the next few days, but she doesn’t want to be away from her foal. I guess she’ll be all right as long as Bernice is handy.”
“Erin can pretty much take care of herself. Why would Bernice need to be there?” His chest constricted. “Is something wrong with Erin?”
She looked at him as if he were a backward child. “Erin got her first period today. Since she insists on going to the ranch, I want her to have a woman around in case she needs something or has any questions. Asking you or Beau would be awkward, don’t you agree?”
Will stared at her, thunderstruck. “But isn’t it too soon for that? Erin’s just a little girl.”
“She’s twelve, Will. It’s not uncommon for girls to start that early.”
“But she’s—” Will shook his head, feeling old and foolish. “Never mind. It’s just the idea of her growing up. It’ll take some getting used to.”
“For her, too.” Tori’s hand reached toward him, then withdrew as if she’d had second thoughts. “Young girls are very private about such things. I’m only telling you so you’ll understand if she’s uncomfortable and out of sorts. But don’t try to talk to her about it. Leave that to Bernice.”
“You’ll let Bernice know?”
“I’ll call her after you leave.” Tori rose from her chair, as footsteps pattered along the upstairs hallway. “Shh, here she comes. Don’t tell her what I said.”
After listening to Tori, Will expected his daughter to be changed somehow. But as she bounded down the stairs with her backpack, her grin was as happy as ever. She loved the ranch and everything on it, especially Tesoro, the palomino foal Sky was helping her raise and train.
“Let’s go, Daddy!” Giving her mother a quick kiss, she dashed out the door to the truck.
Will followed his daughter as far as the front porch, then turned back to Tori. “See you at the ranch for Sunday dinner?” he asked.
“Sure.” She reached up and plucked her glasses off her head. After he left, she’d probably go back to reading up on her current court case. If her life involved anything besides work, her daughter, and her friendship with Natalie, Will hadn’t seen any sign of it. Tori was a beautiful woman. She could marry again any time she chose to—hell, that bastard Garn Prescott would have her in a minute. But she and Will had been divorced for eight years, and she was still alone.
“Call if there’s any problem,” she said, meaning a problem with Erin.
“Don’t worry about it.” He turned away and went down the steps to join their daughter in the truck.
While Erin buckled her seat belt, Will made a quick call to Sky to let him know they were coming. Then he backed the truck out of the driveway.
For a few blocks they drove in awkward silence. Then Erin spoke. “Well, I guess Mom told you my big news,” she said.
“I guess she did.” Will touched the brake at the stop sign and swung the truck onto Main Street.
“I’m not the first girl in my class to get my period. Michelle Hawkins got hers right after school started. And Emily White got hers two months ago. And there are probably some I don’t know about. I’m just glad not to be the last. That would be humiliating.”
“Well, congratulations, I guess,” Will said.
“Thanks. How’s Tesoro? Does he miss me?”
“He always misses you. Just like I do.” In the darkness of the cab, Will allowed himself a smile. Even after twelve years, he and Tori had a lot to learn about being parents.
Lauren speared a morsel of steaming beef from the plate someone had set in front of her. Taking a bite, she forced herself to chew. She didn’t mind good barbecue, but this piece was tough enough to make her wonder if the steer had died of old age. And she could hardly spit it out in front of the guests who’d paid extra to share the round banquet table with the congressman.
“Nothing like good old-fashioned Texas barbecue,” her father was saying. “Now if only I could get my colleagues in the House to sit down to a meal like this, we could solve all the country’s problems in one afternoon!”
“And the next day you could invite the Senate!” Josh Hardesty, the governor’s stepson, glanced around the table, waiting for a response to his joke. Garn Prescott obliged him with a hoot of laughter. Her father was trying too hard, Lauren thought. For that matter, so was Hardesty.
Representing his stepfather at the fund-raiser, Josh Hardesty was handsome in an overblown way, his Armani suit and silk tie too formal for the countrified setting with hay bales and red-checked tablecloths. He had a way of raising his wrist to check the time on his diamond-studded gold Rolex, as if to display the vulgar piece for Lauren’s eyes. He’d arrived at the party in a red Maserati, and Prescott was practically drooling over him. Lauren was under strict orders to be gracious, in the hope of coaxing an extra digit onto his contribution check.
“So what do you think of Texas by now, Lauren?” Hardesty flashed a set of flawless veneers. He was leaning so close that Lauren could have counted the pores on his nose.
Lauren toyed with her food, pretending to eat. “I suppose it has its charms, but I’ve yet to discover them.” True, she thought. Sky Fletcher was one of the least charming men she’d ever met, but even here she couldn’t get him out of her thoughts.
“I’ll be in Lubbock for the next few days,” Hardesty said. “I’d be delighted to help you discover some of those charms you’re missing.”
“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m a working girl,” Lauren said. “I’m keeping the accounts for two different ranches. People are depending on me to get my work done.”
He shook his head. “I can’t understand why a pretty little thing like you would choose to be an accountant.”
“Why not? I’ve always been good with numbers, and I like the challenge of putting things in order.”
“But all you’d have to do is bat those gorgeous eyes at the right man and you’d be set for life. You could have anything you wanted.”
“Funny,” Lauren said, “that’s just what my father tells me.”
Prescott had made it clear that he was hoping for some sparks between his daughter and one of the state’s richest single men under fifty. Hardesty seemed interested, but he was far from her type. She would be polite and pleasant for as long as this dreary event lasted. Then she would slip away without giving him her phone number.
Tomorrow she would demand the payment she’d earned—her pick of any horse on the Prescott ranch.
Garn Prescott surveyed the banquet hall as the seventy-two-minute address from the forme
r Secretary of Agriculture ended. People were pulling out their chairs, standing up to stretch their cramped limbs. A few were already dashing for the exits. Lord, where had his staff dredged up the old dotard? He’d requested a speaker who could fire up an audience. Instead, the former cabinet member, who looked as if he’d served under Warren Harding, had put most listeners to sleep with his droning monotone. Too late, Prescott realized he should have hired a band with a singer to keep things lively. He couldn’t afford a celebrity, but there were groups out there who’d perform for the chance to be heard.
The crowd was up and milling now, some headed for the open bar, more leaving. On the far side of the vast room, Prescott glimpsed Lauren, a fetching sight in jeans, boots, and a western-style shirt. He’d noticed how the cameras flashed when she entered the hall on his arm. Now Josh Hardesty had cornered her, and the two appeared to be deep in conversation. If those two clicked, he would count the event a success. Otherwise it was a near fiasco. He’d be lucky to cover what he’d already paid for the hall rental and the damn-blasted caterer.
“Congressman.” The female voice, coming from somewhere behind his shoulder, recalled the taste of aged bourbon—rich and mellow, with a subtle kick. He turned to meet a pair of absinthe eyes framed by mascara-slathered lashes. The woman wasn’t young—well into her forties, he guessed. But there was a sensual quality about her that defied age. Her hair was dyed a flamboyant carmine, her makeup applied with a lavish hand, giving her face an exotic look that brought to mind some ancient Egyptian queen. Her black silk jumpsuit, worn with high-heeled red boots, hugged her generous curves.
“Have we met?” he asked, knowing he’d remember her if they had.
She gave him a slow smile. “Not until now. I just wanted to shake your hand and make a small personal contribution to your campaign.” She drew a plain white envelope from her purse and held it out to him. “Stella Rawlins. My phone number’s written on the inside flap of this envelope. Call me if you need more. Call me, in fact, if you need anything at all.”
