by Joanna Wayne
“Where is this house?”
“It’s near the small town of Oak Grove. Which, if I remember correctly, is also where you dropped off your niece, Kimmie, last week.”
“It is, but I can’t see Melanie living in an old run-down house.”
“My guess is she won’t be there long,” Rick said. “Or else she can’t afford to live anywhere else. Having your husband killed disqualifies a wife from collecting on his insurance and estate.”
“I’d be willing to bet she has some cash stashed away,” Brit said. “She went to too much trouble to plan the almost perfect murder to risk losing everything.”
“Yes, but she’d planned to have all his money and would have if you hadn’t seen through her grieving-widow act. But, then, it wasn’t a woman who attacked you last night.”
“No, but she has a record of paying someone else to do her dirty work.”
“The assassin she hired to take out her late husband is still in prison. Not that she couldn’t hire someone new.”
“I’d like to question her as a person of interest. It would also give me a chance to check on Kimmie.”
“Fine by me,” Rick quipped. “All you have to do is clear it with Bradford and the sheriff of the county where she’s residing now.”
Bradford wouldn’t be easy, but surely the captain would come around after she realized Brit was fine. Besides, they were always shorthanded in Homicide. This would keep Rick or one of the other detectives from having to make the drive up to Oak Grove.
“I’ve got a call in to the sheriff now,” Rick said. “Waiting on him to call me back, but there shouldn’t be a problem there. His name is Walter Garcia. He’s been sheriff there for quite a while.”
Brit’s mind jumped ahead. She was on vacation. No reason she had to clear this with Bradford before she made the trip to Oak Grove. It would save time when she got the okay.
Brit’s father had always said a good cop did what it took to get the job done.
Brit was a very good cop.
Chapter Nine
Cannon had been suckered. No doubt about it. Following along with Brit’s bizarre plans like some tail-wagging puppy. As a result he was driving north on I-45, a few miles over the speed limit, heading to the one spot in Texas he dreaded visiting.
He hadn’t bought for a second the idea that she’d decided to follow her boss’s order and take a short vacation, out of town, away from the investigation and danger. The shift in plans had come too swiftly and suspiciously immediately after her phone conversation with her partner.
She had something up her sleeve, possibly dangerous and definitely connected to the investigation. But then, he had time to kill while he waited on the test results. Might as well play bodyguard-accomplice to the gorgeous detective instead of just sitting around an expensive hotel in the heart of Houston.
He’d never been one for big-city life. Too much traffic, too many people, no wide-open spaces. But still, he could have done without the Dry Gulch Ranch.
A few days bonding with her niece while she took care of whatever it was that she was planning to do in the Dallas area was all well and good for Brit.
Bonding with a helpless infant who already held some kind of mesmerizing power over him was the last thing Cannon needed. There would be plenty of time for that if he found out she actually was his daughter. Until then, he could do without poopy diapers and bottle feedings and tiny fingers that curled around his.
And he damn sure didn’t need R. J. Dalton. Those days were long gone.
Yet here he was, heading to the Dry Gulch Ranch. Sucker.
Cannon stopped for gas at the Conroe exit. He poked his head back into the car after the tank was filled. “You need anything? Coffee? A soft drink.”
“A bottle of water would be nice.”
“You got it.”
He got his own strong black coffee from the self-serve bar in the convenience store and picked up a bottle of water for her.
When he returned to the car, she was studying a map of Texas she’d pulled from the door pocket of his truck.
“I know the way to the Dry Gulch,” he said.
“I was just checking the distance.” She folded the map and put it away.
Cannon turned the key in the ignition and drove away from the pumps and toward the interstate entrance ramp.
“Don’t you think we should call your father and make sure he’s okay with our staying there a few days?
The word father kicked up a surge of ire. “Let’s get a couple of things straight before we go any farther, Brit. Number one, R.J.’s never been father to me and I have no intention of participating in a happy family charade now. Second, I don’t intend to stay at the ranch long. As soon as I get the results of the paternity test, no matter how it comes out, I’m gone.”
“What about Kimmie?”
Good question. He hadn’t fully faced that yet. But he’d figure it out without the help of R. J. Dalton.
“If I’m her father, I’ll find a way to take care of her,” he stated, trying to sound a lot more confident than he felt. The truth was, he had no idea what he’d do with Kimmie.
“You have a great support system in R.J. and the rest of your family,” Brit said. “If you moved onto the Dry Gulch, I’m sure they’d be a big help in taking care of Kimmie.”
“Right. You had me investigated, which means you have to know my lifestyle isn’t baby-friendly. I’m surprised you decided to contact me at all since you seem to think rodeo cowboys are an irresponsible lot.”
“Sylvie left specific instructions that if something happened to her, you should be given custody of Kimmie. I couldn’t very well ignore her wishes. And, by law, you are the next of kin.”
“So why drop her off at the Dry Gulch instead of with me?”
“Leave her at a rodeo with wild bulls snorting all around her?”
“Have you ever even been to a rodeo?”
“No. Let’s keep it that way.”
Not if he could help it. Detective Brit Garner needed a new taste of Texas.
“I don’t know what your past is with R.J.,” Brit said. “But it would be nice for Kimmie to have a grandfather and uncles, aunts and cousins in her life.”
“Apparently your research didn’t give you the full story,” he said. “Kimmie isn’t going to grow up with a grandfather no matter where I live. R.J. has an inoperable brain tumor. His days are numbered, though the tumor hasn’t progressed as rapidly as he’d indicated when he invited all his sons and one daughter to the reading of his will.”
“He’s already had the reading of the will?”
“He’s an unconventional man, when it suits his purpose.”
“Which was?”
“To prove what a good father he’d have been if he’d been sober or healthy or had given a damn about anyone but himself. Pardon my French.”
“I work in the police department, Cannon. I’m used to far worse language than that. So what did the will say that you find so offensive?”
Cannon hadn’t planned to get into this with Brit. He couldn’t see why she’d even care. But if she was going to spend her days at the ranch for whatever purpose, she’d probably hear some version of the will’s stipulations, anyway.
“In order to share in the estate, each sibling is required to spend one full year living on the ranch and assisting in its operations.”
“What if R.J. hadn’t lived for a year?”
“The will won’t be fully executed until the second anniversary of his death. As long as you take up residence before his death, you can make the cut to start your year.”
“I can see why some of the people affected might find that kind of manipulation of their careers and lifestyles problematic. But you’re a rodeo cowboy. Living at the ranch between rodeos should fit you perfectly.”
“Having any part of my life dictated by R. J. Dalton is problematic to me. Besides, I have plans to buy my own ranch and run it my way. Having six people running a ranch
will be chaos.”
“Maybe,” Brit said. “Maybe not. It would all depend on the people.”
“I have no intention of finding out.”
“What’s the payoff if you meet the will’s requirements?”
“The estate is said to be worth around eight million dollars. That includes land, house, outbuildings and cash and investments.”
“I didn’t realize there was that much money to be made in ranching,” Brit said.
“There seldom is unless your cows are scratching their backs on oil wells. R.J’s aren’t, though his neighbors the Lamberts are one of the richest families in Texas.”
“If the Dry Gulch is worth eight million, it must be reasonably successful.”
“Didn’t look that way to me when I was there for the reading of the will. The house was run-down. I didn’t see a lot of livestock when I took the tour of the ranch that R.J. provided. Have to admit R.J. did have an impressive group of horses, though.”
“He must have gotten the money somewhere. Why did your parents split?”
That, Cannon was not discussing with the gorgeous detective. “Mother had her reasons for leaving. Now I’d best make that call to R.J. so the old coot doesn’t meet us at the door with a shotgun. Unless you’ve changed your mind about staying at the ranch.”
“Then what? We’d sleep in the truck.”
“I have before. I don’t recommend it. There’s a small motel in Oak Grove. We could stay there and it would still be convenient for visiting with Kimmie—if that’s your only business in Oak Grove.”
“No, thanks. I’m intrigued more than ever at the prospect of getting to know Kimmie’s grandfather.”
That figured. He used the hands-free function in his new truck to make the call. The phone rang so many times he was about to hang up when he heard R.J.’s throaty hello.
“This is Cannon.”
“Yep. Recognized your voice. You got those test results back already?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll be jiggered. What’s taking ’em so long? You’d think they were having to make the DNA, not just figure it out.”
“I hope to hear tomorrow, or the next day for sure.”
“I’d hope so. Guess you’re calling to check on Kimmie. She just left to go home with Leif and Joni for the night. No shortage of babysitters around here. They’ve all taken to her like a hog to persimmons.”
“Glad to hear she’s being well cared for.” As for the Dalton clan taking to her, Cannon wasn’t sure that was for the best. He didn’t need them putting pressure on him to bring her to the Dry Gulch for visits.
“I know it’s late to be calling you about this,” Cannon said, “but I was hoping you were in the mood for company.”
“You’re not company. You’re family. Always got a bed for you.”
“I’m not coming by myself.”
“No problem there, either. You wouldn’t by any chance be bringing Kimmie’s mama home with you, now would you?”
“No. Do you remember the police detective who dropped Kimmie off at the ranch?”
“That’s the woman I’m talking about.”
“Turns out she’s not Kimmie’s mom. She’s actually her aunt.”
“Hell’s bells. Go figure that. Where’s the mama?”
“She was murdered last week.”
A period of silence followed. Cannon waited for R.J. to get his mind around that bombshell.
“I’m real sorry to hear that,” R.J. said. “They arrest somebody for the crime?”
The conversation was drifting in the wrong direction. “Not yet. We can discuss that later. The reason I’m calling is that Detective Garner has a few days off work and she would like to spend it on the ranch, getting to know Kimmie a little better, if that’s okay with you.”
“Really? The detective wants to come here? She couldn’t get away fast enough when she dropped Kimmie off.”
“You’ll have to ask her about that.”
“Kind of surprising that a Houston homicide detective would be vacationing when her sister’s killer hasn’t been arrested.”
The old man might have a brain tumor but he was astute enough to read between the lines. “Brit will explain about that later,” Cannon said. R.J. would probably buy the story that she was just following orders after suffering a concussion.
Cannon wasn’t. There was more to the sudden decision to drive to Dry Gulch tonight than just bonding with Kimmie, especially after the past twenty-four hours she’d had.
“Are you coming with the detective?” R.J. asked.
“I’m driving her to the ranch. I’ll only be staying until I get the test results.”
“So you two are driving up here in the morning?”
“Actually we’re on our way there now. Should make it to Oak Grove about ten and to the Dry Gulch shortly after that.”
Brit grabbed his arm. “Eleven,” she whispered. “Tell him we’ll be there around eleven.”
The plot thickened. No surprise. Detective Brit definitely had an ulterior motive. “Make that eleven,” Cannon said.
“Okeydokey. I’ll probably be in bed by then, but there’s leftovers and half a pecan pie in the fridge, made with pecans from right here on the Dry Gulch. Help yourself to that or anything else you see that you want.”
“We’ve eaten.”
“A cowboy’s stomach can always make room for pie. There’s a guest room down the hall and several more upstairs.”
“Where will we find a key?”
“No one bothers with keys out here. I’ll leave the door unlocked. Usually do, anyway. Armadillos and coyotes can’t work the doorknobs yet and don’t no troublesome strangers wander this far off the road. At least not since we took care of the troublemaking hombre who made Faith and Cornell’s life a living hell.”
“Who’s Faith and Cornell?”
“Faith’s your half brother Travis’s wife. Cornell is her son. Talk about a young man taking to the cowboy life. Hard to get him off a horse. Bet he’s ridden almost every inch of the Dry Gulch.”
Cannon finished the conversation quickly, not about to feign interest in a bunch of people he wouldn’t be around long enough to get to know.
Brit was so quiet for the next few minutes he thought she might have dozed off. He upped his speed. She opened her eyes, looked at him and frowned.
“I can arrest you for going more than the speed limit, you know.”
“If you were a stickler for the rules, you wouldn’t be heading to Oak Grove.”
“I’m just taking a vacation as my supervisor ordered.”
“Is that so? Then I guess we’re going to be making out between the hours of ten and eleven.”
“Dream on, cowboy.”
“So what are we going to be doing with our time or is that so confidential that if you tell me you have to kill me?”
“Not quite, but the less you know about this investigation, the better off you’ll be. So I’ve been thinking, and I have a proposition for you.”
“Unless it’s in the same ballpark as making out, the answer is probably no.”
“Hear me out. I’m feeling much better now and the vertigo seems to have run its course. So I could just drop you off at the ranch and then borrow your truck for a bit.”
“Sorry, my truck doesn’t go anywhere without me.”
“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
“WHAT IN THE Sam Hill is going on now?” R.J. muttered under his breath as he rambled to the front of the house. He’d figured the detective was mad as a wet hen at Cannon when she’d dropped Kimmie off at the ranch. Now here she was driving to the ranch with him to visit her niece.
Sure hadn’t taken Cannon long to cool her down. Must have inherited some of R.J.’s charm where women were concerned. Hopefully he was better at holding on to them than R.J. had been.
R.J. pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the wide porch. The night was filled with the songs of tree frogs a
nd crickets and the call of a hoot owl on a low branch of a lonesome pine. The heaven was a showcase of twinkling stars. A cool breeze tossed around his thinning, gray hair.
Winter was tiptoeing in on them, but there hadn’t been a frost yet and it would be Christmas in another couple of weeks. R.J. had never expected to live to see another Christmas, but God was smiling down on him sure as shooting. Not that he deserved it.
He’d pretty much wasted what might have been a blessed life. Didn’t even remember half of it. Lost reality to booze. Lost his money to gambling. Chased too many women that weren’t worth catching while losing the women who were.
He’d been to the post and tied the knot four times and never made one of his wives happy enough that they’d stuck it out to the finish line. Not that he blamed them. He had more demons on his back than most dogs had fleas.
Best he could say for himself was that he’d never killed a man, though he’d met a few that he wanted to. Never got a woman pregnant he didn’t marry, except for Kiki. She stayed around long enough to give birth to their daughter, Jade, and then she’d taken off for Hollywood.
Never heard from her again. Hadn’t heard from Jade, either, until the reading of the will, and she hadn’t bothered to call or stop by since. He hadn’t really expected to hear from her, but, then, he’d all but given up on hearing from Cannon again, too.
Never knew when the odds would change. Something about Cannon made R.J. think they’d really hit it off if they could move past the old resentments.
R.J. would be sittin’ in high cotton if Cannon did settle down on the Dry Gulch, at least when he wasn’t riding the circuit. Might even marry Brit Garner. He could do a damn sight worse. She was pretty as a pasture full of wildflowers. And Kimmie could grow up right here on the Dry Gulch Ranch.
Two detectives in the Dalton family.
His old drinking and gambling buddies would get a horse laugh out of that.
Not that there was any guarantee Cannon would hang around long. Still, sure be good if he did.
R.J. owed it all to his beautiful neighbor Caroline Lambert. She was the one who’d encouraged him to get in touch with his kids before he was six feet under. She thought every cloud had a silver lining. He’d thought her naive. Now damned if she wasn’t right.
