by Joanna Wayne
“All I did was my job,” Brit said. “You hired a man to kill your husband. If I hadn’t arrested you, another police officer would have.”
“No other officer was going to arrest me. You were the only one who just wouldn’t let it go. You were never married. You have no idea what it’s like to be married to a two-timing, arrogant bastard like Richard Carl Crouch.”
“You’re right. I’ve never been married at all. And everyone agrees that he was as arrogant as you claimed. But that’s in the past now. You’ve done your time. You’re free to go on with your life now unless you do something as stupid as pulling that trigger.”
“What are you doing out here?” Melanie asked, her voice low, her tone spiteful. “You have no right to spy on me.”
“We’re looking for a friend’s ranch,” Cannon said, answering for her with the first explanation that came to mind.
“In a cemetery?”
“We saw you roaming the graveyard,” Brit said. “We didn’t know it was you. We were afraid someone was in trouble.”
“You lie. You knew exactly where you were. You came out looking to cause trouble for me. It’s not going to work. I’ve done nothing wrong, but I swear I’ll kill you before I let you send me back to that prison.”
“Why bother? Just leave it to the man you hired to kill me, or is he dead? Did you pay him all of that money for nothing?”
“I didn’t pay anyone a dime to get you. You’re not worth it.”
“If you don’t want to go back to prison, put the gun down, Melanie. It’s the only way. Kill me and you’ll never see freedom again.”
“I won’t go back to that prison. I won’t.” Melanie’s voice was rising. She might lose control at any moment and pull that trigger. Cannon lowered his right hand, watching for any chance to catch Melanie off guard long enough for him to go for his own pistol.
“You won’t have to go back,” Cannon said. “You’ve paid your time. You have your life back. Don’t screw it up. Just hand me the gun and the detective and I will walk away.”
“You would, but not the detective. She’s already itching to arrest me. Why else would she be out here in the dark of night, roaming around looking for any trace of evidence she can use against me?”
“That’s not true,” Brit said. “What kind of evidence would I find in a deserted graveyard?”
“I can understand your fears,” Cannon said. “I’d probably feel the same in your shoes, but pull that trigger and you lose. This time there will be no early parole. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Revenge can’t be worth that to you.”
“I may go to prison but Detective Garner will go straight to hell.”
A pinecone dropped from the branches of the towering pine just behind Melanie, startling her. She spun around. In that split second, Cannon pulled his gun and stepped in front of Brit.
“Drop your gun, Melanie.”
She stared at him, her eyes leveled at him like a laser.
Brit stepped from behind him, weapon in hand now and pointed at Melanie. “No way can you kill us both before we kill you. Is a split second of revenge worth your life?”
A motor sounded in the background and suddenly the area was bathed in flashing blue lights. From the periphery of his vision Cannon saw that a police car had pulled onto the property and was bouncing across the rocky ground toward them.
Melanie hurled the gun into the maze of tombstones and took off like a bolt of lightning, her bare feet flying across the rocks and grass and heading for the wooded area between her house and the graveyard.
The gun hit a stone marker and ricocheted back toward them, fortunately not going off.
Instinctively, Cannon raced after Melanie. He caught up with her just as she reached the edge of the clearing. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. Seconds later, Brit and two armed officers of the law were at his side.
“Get your hands off me,” Melanie said, throwing in a few four-letter expletives to make her point.
“Watch your mouth,” the older lawman ordered. “One more tirade out of you and I’ll throw you into jail for disturbing the peace if nothing else. And you can unhand her,” he said to Cannon. “If she tries to run again, I’ll handle the situation.”
Cannon let go of her arm. She backed away from him but didn’t run.
“Now would someone tell me what the devil is going on here?”
Brit flashed her ID. “I’m Detective Brittany Garner with the Houston Police Department.”
“Who are you?” he asked, pointing a finger a Cannon.
“Cannon Dalton.”
“Cannon Dalton.” He scratched his whiskered chin. “Name sounds right familiar. You look a little familiar, too. I’m guessing you’re the bull-riding son of R. J. Dalton.”
“I am.” There was obviously no way of keeping that a secret in this part of Texas.
“The woman he was chasing is Melanie Crouch, recently released from prison.”
“I know Melanie,” he assured Brit. “I’m Walter Garcia, sheriff of this county. My deputy here is Bobby Blaxton.”
“I don’t know what brought you out here tonight, but your timing couldn’t have been better,” Brit said.
“I had business in the area, and you’re a long way from home, Detective. Mind telling me why you’re chasing one of my citizens through a graveyard this time of night?”
Brit explained the situation as succinctly as possible, stressing that they had no intention of doing anything other than to check out the Crouch place before talking to the sheriff the following morning.
“Detective Garner pinned one crime on me. Now she’s looking to do the same thing again,” Melanie argued, her voice calm and measured.
“If all you were doing was checking out the house, exactly why were you here in the cemetery?” the sheriff asked Brit.
“We glimpsed a woman running through the deserted cemetery,” Brit said. “I had no way of knowing if it was Melanie, but I felt it important to ascertain that no one was in danger.”
“Is that a fact? Looked like you were chasing her when I showed up.”
“Only after she sneaked out from behind one of the tombstones and pulled a gun on us,” Cannon explained. He reached down and picked up the gun with two fingers, careful not to smudge the fingerprints.
“I’ll take that,” the sheriff said.
Cannon handed it off gingerly.
“A gun, huh?” the sheriff said. “Sounds like you got some explaining to do, too, Miss Melanie. How come you have a weapon on you when the specifications of your parole specifically prohibit it?”
“It’s for my own protection. A single woman living alone this far out in the country has to have protection.”
The sheriff hiked up his trousers and then nudged his Stetson a little lower on his forehead. “If you’re so worried about your safety, what are you doing out in this abandoned cemetery this time of night?”
“I buried a kitten out here earlier today. I was visiting the grave. Brought her some flowers I picked up in Oak Grove today.”
“You haven’t been out of prison but a few weeks. You telling me you got yourself a cat that already up and died on you?”
“I didn’t get a cat. Some jerk threw a sack full of kittens out of a truck and left them in the woods to die. I took them in. One didn’t make it.”
“Can’t see any way we’re going to get to the bottom of this tonight,” the sheriff drawled. “Besides, it’ll be pushing midnight by the time I get home and to bed as it is. Cannon, are you and the detective here staying at the Dry Gulch?”
“For now,” he admitted.
“Then I’ll be out to the ranch in the morning to have a chat with you both. I been wanting to get there to check on R.J., anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.”
“In the meantime, what’s to keep Melanie from going on the run as soon as we leave?” Brit asked.
“A jail cell. I’m hauling her in for breaking parole by having po
ssession of a firearm.”
Melanie uttered a few more curses. “You don’t have any proof that’s my gun.”
“My suspicions and the detective’s word is all I need for you to enjoy a stay in the clinker for the next twenty-four hours.”
“I can live with that,” Brit said.
Garcia fitted the handcuffs around Melanie’s wrists.
“You and Dalton go home and get some sleep. I’ll be there before noon tomorrow.”
Cannon was pleased to take the sheriff’s advice. Rest was exactly what Brit needed. He was beginning to fade, himself, now that Melanie was in cuffs.
Within minutes they were on their way to the Dry Gulch Ranch and R.J. The dread swelled again. He was certain the reunion was a mistake. By the time he drove up to the rambling old house, he was sure of it.
Chapter Eleven
Brit rolled down her window as they approached the house. The temperature had dropped a few degrees and a chill crept deep inside her as she studied her new surroundings.
Clouds had rolled in over the past half hour, obscuring the stars and the moon, outlining the house in shades of grisly gray. Intimidating shadows from towering trees stalked the gables and chimneys. The porch swing swayed and creaked in the wind as if occupied by a hostile aberration that resented their intrusion.
Perhaps arriving at this time of night had not been the best of ideas, especially with Cannon already dreading spending the night under his father’s roof.
She rolled up her window and opened her door as Cannon shifted into Park and killed the engine. Fatigue washed over her again as her feet hit the driveway. A good night’s sleep without incident and they might both feel differently. Her sizzling attraction to Cannon might cool. He might decide he’d had enough of playing nurse and driver to her.
With their two duffel bags swinging from his shoulder, Cannon extended a supportive hand to the curve of her back as she climbed the steps to the wide front porch. He was clearly good at playing the protective role. He might find a way to get away from her quickly when she returned to the tough, in-your-face, risk-taking cop she was normally.
But for now his effect on her was showing no signs of weakening. Spending the night under the same roof might make the unwelcome desires more potent.
Cannon turned the doorknob. The door squeaked open. The dim light of a lamp welcomed them inside. One look around and Brit’s foreboding concerning the house vanished.
Hot coals glistened in the giant stone fireplace. Crocheted throws rested on the leather couch and comfortable chairs. A bouquet of fall flowers in a white pottery vase adorned a pine side table, its fragrance blending with the smell of spices.
A pair of wire reading glasses rested on the pages of an opened magazine. A nearby shelf was filled with books of all sizes, except for the top shelf which held framed snapshots. Many were in black and white, the subjects dressed in attire from throughout the former century.
A stunning watercolor of a majestic cinnamon-colored steed ridden by a man in a black cowboy hat, a Western shirt and a pair of shiny black cowboy boots hung above the fireplace.
“It’s exactly as I’ve always imagined these old ranch houses to look,” she whispered.
“Old and outdated?” Cannon questioned, not bothering to hide the fact that he didn’t like being here.
That was especially strange since she felt as if she were coming home even though she’d never lived outside the city of Houston. “The house has a strong sense of continuity between the past and the present,” she said.
Cannon shrugged his shoulders. “Not my past.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” She walked over and picked up one of the framed black-and-white photos of an older man. “You have a definite resemblance to this man. He could be your grandfather or at least an ancestor.”
“Still would be a stranger to me. Let’s check out the guest room—unless you’re hungry. R.J. said to help ourselves to leftovers, including pecan pie made with Dry Gulch pecans.”
“Hard to turn down temptation like that.”
“I would have thought you capable of resisting any kind of temptation, Detective.”
A blush burned her cheeks. His teasing too closely edged the truth. But she wouldn’t be intimidated by his flirtatious comment. “I can,” she agreed, “but I don’t always want to.”
“Nice to know.”
She returned the picture to the shelf and started down the hallway, stopping at the first open door. Again, she was enchanted by the inviting aura of the room. The furnishings were softened by the glow of lamplight. A colorful quilt was pulled down on the king-size bed, revealing a nest of tempting white sheets just waiting to be crawled between.
“It has an adjoining bath,” Cannon said, pointing to a door that had been left ajar. “R.J. assured me he’d leave fresh towels out for you.”
“I hate that I’ve put him out.”
“If you did, you’d have never guessed by his reaction. He sounded like he was excited to have company.”
“I’m sure that you’re the one he’s excited to see.”
“No doubt. One more offspring on which to assuage his guilt.”
They left the bedroom and followed the dimly lit hallway to the back of the house. The kitchen was on the left. Cannon reached inside the door, flipped the switch and flooded the space with light.
The focal point was a large marred and well-worn oak table. Brit could easily imagine the large Dalton family gathered around the table, eating, laughing and talking.
Exactly the kind of place she’d imagined her friends had experienced when they’d gone to their grandparents for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Her family had been only her mother and father up until her mother had died when Brit was twelve.
After that it had been just her and her dad. He’d always made a special attempt to spend holidays with her, but that didn’t always work out. When it didn’t, she’d be invited to the McIntosh’s. Aidan McIntosh had been her dad’s partner and best friend. Louise McIntosh had been like a second mother to her until the terrible night of Aidan’s arrest.
This was not the time to revisit that night in her mind.
Cannon opened the refrigerator and started lifting plastic tops to peek inside the containers. “Looks like some kind of potato casserole, cold fried chicken, field peas and a few slices of hothouse tomatoes. If that doesn’t do it for you, there’re eggs and I’d wager I can find some bacon or sausage to go with them.”
She reached past him and retrieved the pie. “I have mine,” she teased. “It’s every man for himself.”
“And after I’ve faced the fierce arm of the law for you.”
“I suppose I could share a bite or two.”
“How about a glass of milk to wash it down?”
“Now you’re talking, cowboy.”
In minutes, they were at the table, relishing the best pecan pie she’d ever tasted. Even Cannon seemed to be relaxing in the cozy warmth of the kitchen.
“How did you ever get into something as suicidal as bull riding?” she asked.
“Nothing suicidal about it. I work damn hard to stay alive.”
“Exactly. So why not become a doctor or attorney or even a regular rancher like R.J.?”
“The thought never entered my mind. I moved to my uncle’s ranch out in West Texas when I was thirteen. Rodeo was the most exciting thing going around there, and we had no shortage of bulls.”
“Wasn’t your mother terrified you’d get hurt?”
“She was killed in a boating accident. That’s why I ended up on my uncle’s ranch.”
So they had both lost their mother at an early age. That might be the only thing they had in common.
Brit let the subject drop and turned the talk to the totally impersonal subject of the latest political scandal. The minutes flew by as they talked, joked and enjoyed the pie.
“You’d best get some sleep,” Cannon said once they’d finished their midnight snack and rinsed their dishes. “
Tomorrow promises to be another action-packed day, starting with your meeting with Sheriff Garcia.”
“I am beat,” she said truthfully. “But still feeling one hundred percent better than I did this morning.”
“Not because you followed the doctor’s orders.”
“How can you say that? I slept all afternoon and during the drive here from Houston. Except for my brief foray into the land of the dead and deranged I was a perfect patient.”
“I wouldn’t say perfect. And you definitely ignored your boss’s demands.”
“You would have to bring that up. I’ll deal with her when the time comes—if it comes. She won’t argue with success.” And after experiencing Melanie’s emotional state firsthand, Brit was convinced she was their most credible suspect to date, though she still couldn’t figure out how Melanie would have known that Sylvie was Brit’s sister.
They left the kitchen and went back down the hallway, stopping at the open door that led to the guest room.
Brit looked up at Cannon. “Where will you sleep?”
He met her gaze. His eyes were questioning, as if he were pondering whether that might be an invitation to share her bed. The tension sparked to the point of explosion.
Brit trembled as the possibility of falling asleep in his strong arms filled her senses. She took a deep breath and tamped down the unbidden desire.
“I’m told there are several guest rooms upstairs to choose from,” Cannon said. “But I’ll be close by. If you need anything, anything at all, just call and I can be here in seconds.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “The room is so cozy and I’m so tired, I may fall asleep with my clothes on.”
He lingered, then took a step closer, leaning in so that his lips were mere inches from hers. Her heart skipped crazily. Her head felt light. Her stomach fluttered.
She knew she should back away, but her body ignored her brain. She lifted her mouth to his and then dissolved into a deliciously sweet eruption of passion as his lips found hers.
His lips were soft at first, then more demanding. The thrill of their mingling breaths rocked though her like fire. The inhibitions that had become part of her being melted away and she kissed him back, letting the thrill of him wash though her.
