Texas True

by Janet Dailey

  Forcing himself to exhale slowly, he backed away a step. Slade’s watery eyes looked up at him.

  “Only a coward would beat a woman,” Beau rasped. “How much does your wife weigh, Slade? Maybe half as much as you? How did you feel when you punched her in the face? Did you feel like a man?”

  Slade muttered something vile, but he was in too much pain to get up.

  Crouching, Beau seized his collar and yanked him up to the level of his gaze. There was genuine terror in Slade’s eyes. Spit trailed from the corner of his mouth to the stubble on his chin. Sick with rage and disgust, Beau glared at him. He’d reduced this human monster to a quivering hulk, but nothing could touch what the man had done to Natalie.

  “Get one thing through your thick head, Slade Haskell,” he said. “Don’t you ever threaten Natalie again. If you so much as go near her, so help me, the next time I see you I’ll kill you.”

  Shoving Slade back to the floor, he rose, laid a bill on the bar, and walked out.

  A pair of unseen eyes had witnessed Slade’s humiliation. Lute had come into the Blue Coyote behind Slade and the two truckers. When he’d spotted Beau Tyler and sensed trouble, he’d skirted the crowd, made his way down the hall toward the restroom, and watched from the recessed doorway. Slade had gotten what he deserved. Too bad it had to be at the hands of an arrogant bastard like Beau Tyler.

  Now, two mornings later, Lute entered the closed establishment through the back. His weekly cash was due, and Stella had always paid on time. Not finding her at first, he wandered into the bar. The place was silent, the floor swept, the tables cleared and wiped, the glassware polished. Weeks had passed since Jess’s murder, but Lute still couldn’t walk into the place without picturing her, flitting among the tables in her little pink boots. By now he understood that she’d been a whore. But that didn’t mean there hadn’t been something special between them—something that, with time, might have become real. He’d fantasized about taking her away from this place, getting a little apartment where he could have her all to himself. But those dreams had ended with the unspeakable discovery in the bog.

  Had the cops learned anything about who killed her, he wondered, or had they decided a dead whore wasn’t worth their time?

  “There you are.” Stella came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel. “I’ve got your money in the office. Come in and sit down. Let’s have a talk.”

  Lute followed her down the hallway. She was dressed and made up for business except for her feet, which sported rubber flip-flops and several corn plasters.

  Seated behind her desk, she motioned Lute to a chair and lit a cigarette. “So how are things with Slade?” she asked.

  “Pretty bad,” Lute said. “All he does is drink and talk about how he’s going to put a bullet through Beau Tyler’s head. I’ve been keeping stuff organized, and the drivers have been hauling their loads. But Slade’s pretty much useless.”

  “I see.” Stella blew a smoke ring. “So you’ve been doing Slade’s job.”

  “As much as I can.” Lute liked where this exchange seemed to be going. “I can’t legally drive the trucks yet, but I’m studying for the test. I should have my license in the next week or so.”

  “Smart thinking.” Stella smiled. “Slade’s no use to us anymore. He’s got to go. And I’ll be needing a good man to take his place.”

  Lute’s pulse had broken into a gallop. It was happening, everything he’d wanted. “I figure Slade’s going to jail soon,” he said. “After what he did to his wife, he could be there a spell.”

  Stella’s expression hardened. She took a drag on her cigarette and blew another smoke ring. “You’re a smart boy, Lute. Look at the big picture. You know Slade can’t go to trial, and you know why.”

  Lute stared through the haze of smoke as her words sank in. Facing prison, Slade would take a plea deal—his freedom in exchange for all he knew about Stella’s operation.

  Opening a drawer, Stella took out a sealed white envelope and slid it across the desk. When Lute picked it up, he felt the substantial thickness of what it contained. There was a lot more money here than the five $20 bills she usually paid him. The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

  “Prove to me that you can do Slade’s job. Do that, and the job’s yours.” Stella sucked on her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “As long as you’re here, let me share a little secret. Just between you and me, I know you were sweet on Jess, and I know how much it hurt you when she died.” She tamped the cigarette in a china ashtray before she met Lute’s eyes. “The one who killed her and dumped her body in that bog was Slade.”

  By the time Natalie was released from the hospital, she was impatient to get home. When Tori came to pick her up, she almost bolted out the door.

  “How’s your head?” Tori asked as she drove out of the parking lot. “I still wish you would stay with me for a few days so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “My head’s fine. They could’ve sent me home two days ago.”

  “At least you’re looking better.” Tori gave her an appraising glance. “Your bruises are fading fast. A little makeup and nobody will notice them at all.”

  “Good.” But Natalie wasn’t concerned about appearance. “Is my house all right?”

  “It’s fine. I checked on my way here. I even put some leftover lasagna in the fridge for you to warm up.”

  “What would I do without you?” Natalie reached over and squeezed her friend’s shoulder. It felt good to be going home. But home would be a different place now. And she’d be dealing with a mountain of complications—her clinic, the insurance, the money, the divorce . . . Her mood darkened. “I guess I’d better ask what’s happening with Slade,” she said.

  “Nobody’s seen him since he had that fight with Beau in the bar. Rumor has it he’s holed up at his trucking company, most likely drinking.”

  “I told Beau to stay out of this, but no, he had to go and make everything worse! Why can’t the man leave well enough alone?”

  “Beau was worried about you. He wanted to let Slade know you had a protector.”

  “Don’t you dare defend him, Tori! Beau was way out of line! Anyway, I don’t need a protector. I’ve got new locks and a restraining order. And I’ll have a gun with me.”

  “A gun you don’t know how to shoot. Maybe you ought to get a dog—something big and scary like a rottweiler.”

  “Stop worrying, I’ll be fine. And I’ll be too busy to take care of a dog, especially while I’m getting the clinic operational again. That’s going to be a big job . . . and expensive. I just hope I can get enough house calls in the interim to pay for it.”

  Tori didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the road. Was something going on?

  They made small talk, mostly about Erin, until they drove into town. Natalie could feel her tension rising as they pulled up to the house. From the outside, everything looked fine, almost normal except that the lawn needed mowing.

  “You’ll need new keys for the locks.” Tori fished in her purse as they climbed out of the car. “Here you go. The square one’s for the front door. There are spares inside.”

  Natalie found the key on the ring Tori had given her. Her hand trembled as she thrust it into the dead bolt. How many times had she come home to this house wondering which version of Slade would be waiting for her inside—the sociable, good-humored man she’d married or the demanding, suspicious tyrant who’d follow her from room to room, railing at her and criticizing every move she made?

  Now the house would be empty. But the memories would rush at her every time she opened the door. It would be a long time before she felt safe here.

  The key turned in the lock and the door swung open to silence. The living room had been straightened, Slade’s clutter of newspapers, gun magazines, and empty beer cans thrown out. A vase of fresh bluebonnets and daisies sat on the freshly polished coffee table.

  “Thank you so much!” Turning, Natalie hugged her friend. “Not just fo
r this but for everything! How am I ever going to pay you back?”

  “You already have.” Tori returned the hug. “Now let me check the place out so you can relax, knowing you’re safe. Then I’ll have to run along. Erin will be getting home from school, and I’ve got clients coming.”

  Tori gave each room a brief inspection, as if she expected Slade to lunge out of a closet or reach out from under the bed. She even checked the garage and tiptoed down the hall to open the door of the clinic and glance in. Natalie sensed that Tori was doing it for show, but she waited in the living room until her friend came back to report.

  “All clear,” Tori announced. “Now get some rest. There’s a quart of your favorite double fudge ice cream in the freezer. Find a big spoon, put your feet up, and forget about that hospital food you had to eat. That’s an order!” She strode toward the door. “Lock yourself in. That’s an order, too.”

  Natalie sighed as her best friend drove away. Tori had been an angel, but she really could take care of herself. Was it her petite size that made people want to mother her? Or did she really appear that helpless?

  The ice cream could wait. After three days of forced inactivity, she was ready to get some things done. She could start by cleaning up the mess in her clinic and making a list of what needed to be repaired or replaced.

  Seizing a broom and a dustpan from the kitchen closet, she marched down the hall that connected the clinic with the rest of the house. A chill passed through her body as she reached for the doorknob. Natalie willed herself to ignore it. Tori had checked the clinic and pronounced it safe. And the sooner she entered the crime scene and owned it, the sooner she could heal and move ahead with her life.

  Squaring her shoulders, she turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the familiar space. She gasped. The broom and dustpan clattered to the floor.

  Her clinic was in perfect condition, as if nothing had happened.

  CHAPTER 10

  Natalie stared at the gleaming floor and counters, the furniture, equipment, and supplies. Was her head injury causing her to hallucinate? She’d left the place in ruins.

  Only when a tall figure rose from the couch did everything fall into place.

  “Welcome home, Natalie,” Beau said.

  She gripped the door frame, blasted by a tempest of emotions—gratitude, yes, but surprisingly, the most overpowering of all was outrage. Why hadn’t anyone understood that she needed to do this job herself, to work through the wreckage Slade had left behind, to prove that she could manage on her own?

  Beau had taken that healing task away from her. Tori must have had a hand in it, too. He couldn’t have done it without her cooperation.

  Beau was watching her with a concerned expression. She realized she was shaking.

  “How . . . could . . . you?” Each word was forced from her tight throat.

  A wounded look flashed across his face. Then, as if the truth had dawned, he strode across the room and caught her close.

  Natalie went rigid, her fists balling against his hard chest. She fought his strength, but his arms only tightened around her, confining her, confining the storm as he’d learned to do years ago when she was upset. Slowly the resistance ebbed. Still reluctant, she sagged against him, breathing in little broken gasps. She didn’t want to take refuge in his arms. She didn’t want to need him. But, heaven help her, she did.

  His embrace had gentled. “Would you like me to wreck the place again so you can clean it up yourself?” he murmured against her hair.

  “You could have asked me first,” she said.

  “You would have said no.”

  “I’ll pay you back every cent this cost you.”

  “It wasn’t that much. By the time we picked everything up off the floor, there were only a few odds and ends that needed to be replaced.”

  “Rimrock will get free vet care for the rest of my life.”

  He moved his hands to her shoulders, shifting her away from him so he could look into her bruised face. “Let it go, Natalie. You’ve been through a hell of a time. Let the people who love you have the pleasure of helping.”

  Had Beau just said he loved her?

  But no, he hadn’t meant it—not that way. And even if he had, how could she welcome his love when he would only break her heart again?

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “And you shouldn’t be here alone,” he countered. “Do you have any idea how many women have been hurt or killed by men with restraining orders against them? I’m staying here tonight. And tomorrow I’m giving you a shooting lesson.”

  She shook her head. “You’re a target, too. If Slade comes snooping around and sees us together, it could push him over the edge. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

  His jaw tightened. “The only way I’m going home is if you come with me. Otherwise I’m staying. Your choice.”

  “You don’t own me, Beau. You have no right to just step in and take over my life.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, almost hurting.

  “Damn it, woman, can’t you get this through your stubborn little head? I’m not trying to take over your life! I’m trying to save it!”

  He stood like a hickory tree, rooted to the ground.

  Natalie had seen this side of him in the past. Beau had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to budge.

  She sighed in defeat. “All right. There’s a spare bed in the guest room. Where’s your vehicle?”

  “Locked in the garage with yours.” He released her and stepped away. Only then did she notice the heavy revolver holstered at his hip. “But I’ll pass on the guest room,” he said. “It’s too far out of the way. The living room sofa will work better. And I’ll most likely stay awake. If Slade comes snooping around, I’ll want him to know that I’m here and that I have a gun. Believe me, I’d rather scare him away than have him break in and be forced to shoot him.”

  Natalie shivered at his words. Slade had done some awful things, but she didn’t want him shot. She didn’t want anybody shot, especially Beau. Why hadn’t Beau stayed out of this mess? Why couldn’t he have just walked away and left her to face her problems on her own?

  Sighing in resignation, she turned back toward the hallway. “As long as you’re staying, we might as well have some dinner,” she said. “I’ll warm up Tori’s lasagna and make a salad. There might even be a bottle of Pinot Noir in the cupboard. How does that sound to you?”

  Beau sat on the sofa, leafing through the newspaper and listening to Natalie rummaging in the kitchen. He’d offered to help her, but she’d shooed him into the living room. She probably needed some time to herself.

  He could get used to this—the sharing of intimate space with a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman who dazzled him every time he looked at her. Even with the bruises shadowing the side of her face, she took his breath away, triggering the kind of domestic fantasies he’d never had with any other woman. If this were an ordinary evening, they might enjoy a pleasant dinner, clear away the meal, and maybe curl up on the sofa to snuggle and watch the news. When it was time, he would scoop her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make tender, passionate love to her until they drifted off in each other’s arms.

  But this was no ordinary evening. Natalie had been brutalized, and she was still in danger. He was here to keep her safe. The last thing on her mind tonight would be romance.

  Was there any chance of a future for them?

  At the very least, she would need time to heal. And he would need a wellspring of patience. Rushing her into the kind of intense relationship he wanted could worsen the damage she’d already suffered.

  Natalie raised her head to see the digital clock on the nightstand. Two-nineteen, and she’d been tossing most of the night. Maybe she’d gotten too much rest in the hospital. Or maybe she was just too tired to fall asleep.

  Beau had insisted she go to bed early. At the last minute she’d decided to sleep in the guest room. The king-sized bed she’d sh
ared with Slade held too many ghosts. Tomorrow she’d call some local charity to have the monstrosity picked up and hauled away.

  So many changes. So many plans to make. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the darkened ceiling. It wasn’t the idea of being on her own that troubled her. It was the ugliness of it all that gnawed at the pit of her stomach. And that ugliness was far from over.

  The dark fog of sleep began to close around her. Her limbs grew heavy. Like an exhausted swimmer, Natalie sank into slumber.

  What had she heard? The crunch of gravel? The shifting of a window screen? Instantly alert, she raised her head, catching a faint movement through the blinds. A hand sliding over the sill. A too-familiar face . . .

  She screamed.

  “Natalie! What is it?” Beau was there in an instant, his pistol drawn. Natalie blinked herself fully awake. Had it been real?

  “The window. Someone was coming in. I saw his hand . . .” She was beginning to feel foolish.

  Beau checked the window. “It’s locked tight,” he said. “No one could’ve opened it without breaking the glass. I’ll go outside and look around, just to be sure.”

  “Please don’t.” The last thing she wanted was for him to go out and expose himself to an ambush. “I’m sorry. I must’ve had a bad dream. Did I wake you?”

  “No way. I learned to stay awake on watch and on drug stakeouts.” Turning on the bedside lamp, he scowled at her. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. But I don’t know if I can go back to sleep.”

  “Then come and keep me company.” Without asking permission, he bundled her in the quilt, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the living room sofa. “How about some hot cocoa? I saw some packets of the instant stuff in your kitchen—the kind with marshmallows.”

  “Actually that sounds wonderful.” She snuggled into the quilt. “There’s a kettle on the stove. Clean cups in the dishwasher.”