Unspoken

by Lisa Jackson

  “Mr. Smith?” she asked and flashed him a thousand-watt smile—as bright as a snowy mountaintop at dawn and just as cold. Nevada was instantly wary. He didn’t get many solicitors out here, not even missionary types who wanted to sell him religion, so who the hell was she? And then it dawned on him.

  “Yep.”

  She stuck out a hand. “I’m Katrina Nedelesky. I’m a reporter for Lone Star magazine.”

  Her grip was strong. Sure. Yet there was something tenuous about the way she looked up at him, something he innately didn’t trust. Filled with self-importance, she fished in a pocket of her briefcase and retrieved a business card. She slapped it into his open palm. “Just in case you doubt me.”

  “Wouldn’t do that.” But he glanced down, skimmed the information, then assessed her slowly. “What can I do for you?” Leaning one hip against the frame of the door, he folded his arms across his chest and slid the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the night Ram6n Estevan was killed.”

  So that was it. He wasn’t surprised. “Look, I made a report. Testified on the stand. I think it’s all a matter of public record.”

  “I know, I know, but if I could just come in and talk to you a while ... I really would like to hear your side of the story.”

  “My side?”

  “Well, your take on things. You were there.”

  He’d never had much use for reporters, thought they were all snoops and glory-seekers; this one didn’t impress him as any more scrupulous than the rest of the lot. Also, there was something about her—the way she stared up at him with such intense eyes—that gave him pause. Had he met her before? He didn’t think so. He was pretty good with faces, and yet she seemed familiar.

  He motioned to the plastic chairs on the front porch, and as she took a seat Crockett gave off a soft “woof” and slowly slunk down the steps to his favorite spot under the porch. In the fields nearby a few spindly-legged colts pranced and bucked, their coats gleaming in the fading rays of sunlight.

  Nevada leaned back, crossed his legs at the ankles and waited. The reporter perched on the edge of one chair as if afraid some of the dust that had settled on the seat would dirty up her black skirt.

  “I’ve got a pocket recorder—” She snapped open her briefcase..

  “No recorder.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, I don’t think I have anything to say to you. I heard you were interviewing Caleb—in fact he’s been crowing about it, talkin’ about all the money he’s gonna make from some exclusive deal the two of you have cooked up—but there’s not a whole lot more I can add.”

  “You were a major part of the investigation,” she argued, and the scent of her perfume teased him. It wasn’t cheap, and her clothes looked as if she’d picked them out at Nieman . Marcus rather than K Mart; he’d bet his favorite mare that the skirt, boots, knit top and jacket—hell. even her perfume—were imprinted with some famous designer’s name. Though her car was inexpensive and had seen better years, Katrina Nedelesky wasn’t afraid to spend some bucks on her appearance. A dichotomy, the lady reporter. Nope, he didn’t trust one hair on her henna-dyed head.

  “You and Ross were sworn enemies,” she said with that same, gee-I-find-you-fascinating grin. “And you claimed he stole your pickup that night.”

  “Someone did. Ross ended up in it.”

  “And nearly died. Plowed it into a tree, right?”

  “It’s all in the report,” he said testily. He didn’t like the woman—she was too smooth, too self-impressed.

  “But you were friends in high school.”

  “Not friends. We played on the same football team while he was in school.” She was starting to irritate him. He stared at her. Hard. She didn’t so much as flinch.

  “As I understand it, you were both interested in the same girl.” This wasn’t just an aside. She’d been leading up to it. “Shelby Cole. Judge Jerome—er. I guess he goes by Red around these parts. Anyway, the both of you were seeing Judge Cole’s daughter.”

  Nevada’s temper, burning slow, snapped. “I dated Shelby for a while.”

  “And Ross—?” she suggested.

  “You’ll have to ask him about that.” He matched her grin with one of his own. “But that probably isn’t the best idea around. Ross has kind of a bad reputation, Ms.”—he checked the card he was still holding—“Nedelesky. And a pretty foul temper. So if I were you, I wouldn’t push things.”

  She was just slightly unnerved, but not yet off track. “Is there something I should know about your relationship with Ross McCallum?”

  He snorted. “Didn’t think I had one.”

  “You hated McCallum. Everyone in town knows it. As teenagers you had a few skirmishes and later, just a few weeks before Ram6n Estevan was killed, you and McCallum got into a pretty big fight. Both of you ended up in the hospital. You lost the vision in one eye, and McCallum suffered broken ribs and a separated shoulder, I think. What was that all about?”

  “We had a disagreement. It got out of hand. As I said, McCallum’s got a hot temper.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I can hold my own. Look, I think we’ve talked enough. As I said, everything you need to know is in the court records.” Nevada stood, signifying that the interview was over.

  She didn’t take the hint. “So where were you when Ramón Estevan was shot?”

  “It’s in my report. I was driving around.”

  “Alone?” She didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in her tone.

  “Didn’t have a partner with me at the time.”

  She lifted both eyebrows as if she thought this information was somehow important. “The murder weapon was never found. True?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “And you had a gun that was missing—the same caliber that killed Ram6n.”

  “That’s right.” He shifted from one leg to the other.

  “You’ve never found your gun?”

  “Pistol. No, never.”

  “But your hunting rifle was in the truck along with Ross McCallum.”

  “It wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  She ignored that. “You were asked to leave the Sheriff’s Department shortly after the investigation. Why?”

  The muscles at the base of his neck knotted up tight. “I resigned, Ms. Nedelesky. Personal reasons.”

  “What were they?” The porch was getting dark, and he didn’t bother switching on the light. She wasn’t budging, so he decided to come straight to the point.

  “This interview is over.”

  “Is it true you railroaded Ross McCallum into prison?”

  “He was tried and convicted.”

  “With witnesses who weren’t reliable. Witnesses you provided.”

  “I said the interview’s over.”

  Reluctantly she climbed to her feet and picked up her briefcase. “You know, Mr. Smith, there’s a whole lot more to this story than just the facts on the surface.”

  “Is there?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself while hiking the strap of her briefcase to her shoulder and searching for her keys. “And I’m going to find out what it is.”

  “Do that,” he said.

  With a final strobe of that icy smile, Katrina walked back to her car. She swung that tight little butt of hers as if it was something special, but Nevada wasn’t interested. The lady was about as safe to cuddle up to as a viper.

  By the time she slid behind the wheel, the sun had slid behind the western hills and darkness was fast encroaching. Long purple shadows swept across the fields and the first few stars winked in the sky. Somewhere far off a coyote howled.

  Boots planted wide apart, Nevada folded his arms across his chest and observed Katrina’s aging, rattletrap of a car as she drove off. He told himself not to let her insinuations bother him. She was an opportunist, nothing more. He sensed that she had her own agenda, a personal
reason for her interest in Ross McCallum becoming a free man.

  So what was it? The taillights of her Escort winked through the trees. His eyes narrowed. Forget her. She’s not gonna dig up anything damaging. And yet he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was a loose cannon. Bothered, he walked inside and reached for the phone. He dialed Shelby’s number by rote. Waited. No one answered at Judge Cole’s house.

  He didn’t bother leaving a message.

  A bad feeling settled over Nevada, partially because of the snoopy reporter, but also because he was worried about Shelby and annoyed that Ned Pritchart had died, taking any information the doctor had about Elizabeth to the grave with him. The fact that Doc Pritchart was dead wasn’t a surprise, and yet it meant it was one less lead to finding their daughter. His child. Shelby’s. It was strange how he’d accepted the fact that he was a father.

  And yet, once he finally located Elizabeth—and locate her he would—Nevada Smith didn’t have a clue as to what he’d do. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan. And it bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

  A million stars were flung across the wide black sky, and a half moon was rising steadily over the hills.

  Shelby pushed the button for the sunroof. It opened just as the Cadillac crested the final rise on the road to Bad Luck. The windows were open and a hot Texas wind raced by, tangling her hair, brushing her cheeks. Hot, tired and as frustrated as hell, she saw the lights of town glowing steadily ahead and her fingers held fast to the steering wheel. She didn’t hear the music blasting from the radio, didn’t notice much other than the ribbon of asphalt caught in the beams of her headlights. Two days in San Antonio—for what?

  Nothing.

  Nada.

  Zilch.

  Damn it all to hell anyway. She didn’t know much more about Elizabeth’s whereabouts now than she had when she’d returned to Bad Luck in a blaze of self-righteous indignation and motherly determination.

  It seemed like an eternity since she’d received the letter and picture; in truth it wasn’t quite a week. So why was it that she felt every day that went by had been wasted, that she’d lost another twenty-four hours when she could have been with her child?

  “Where are you?” she asked a daughter she’d never met, but she refused to let a sense of desperation invade her soul. She would find Elizabeth. She had to. She wouldn’t rest until she had.

  The lights of Bad Luck loomed nearer. Her stomach soured at the sight of the Well Come Inn glowing in neon splendor on the edge of town.

  Shelby had planned to drive home, take a late-night swim and let the cool water soak away the aches in her muscles and the headache pounding through her brain, but before she reached the city limits, she eased off the accelerator and took a road that veered west, toward Nevada’s ranch. Maybe he’d learned something in the last couple of days.

  Or is it because you just want to see him again?

  Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel at the thought, and she checked the rearview mirror, as she had every ten or twenty miles since leaving San Antonio. She’d been jittery and nervous, half expecting that she might be followed, though that was crazy. Just because someone had called her hotel room right before she’d left and not spoken was no reason to freak out. It was just a coincidence, nothing more. No one was following her.

  As she drove past prickly pear and live oaks, she rationalized that she had to face Nevada again, and soon. They were in this thing together—parents of their missing daughter.

  But there’s more to it than that, Shelby, and you know it.

  She refused to listen to that nagging part of her mind and pushed the speed limit until she reached the turnoff to Nevada’s ranch. Dry weeds brushed the undercarriage of the rental car. Bugs splattered against the windshield. Her heart was pounding with a mixture of dread and anticipation, and for a second she wished she hadn’t made this little detour. Her hands felt suddenly damp with nervous sweat. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, made sure that her lipstick hadn’t faded.

  “Ridiculous,” she chided herself as the Cadillac bounced down twin ruts grooved deep into the hard pan. She wasn’t a high school girl in the throes of her first crush. This was far different. She stared through the windshield. In the moonlight she saw the silhouettes of longhorns in the nearby fields and ahead, lamplight glowing from the windows and open door of Nevada’s house.

  Her mouth was cotton dry. She parked and was out of the car before the dust had settled. Crockett began to bark, and as she climbed the single step to Nevada’s porch, he appeared in the doorway, standing in stark relief, his shoulders nearly touching either side of the door jamb.

  Why was it that she always noticed how all-male he was, how raw and rugged and untamed? Like these dry, wind-blown hills, he was earthy and wild and Texan.

  And the kind of man you should avoid like a coiled rattler.

  “Well, Shelby,” he drawled, a slow-spreading grin growing from one side of his jaw to the other. “This is a surprise.” His teeth were a white slash against his night-darkened skin. Flinty eyes assessed her. “Miss me?”

  “So bad I couldn’t sleep at night,” she mocked.

  “Me, neither.” Amusement danced through his eyes, and some of her apprehension dissipated. One dark eyebrow lifted appraisingly. Dimples cut into his dark jaw. “I just never thought you’d admit it.”

  He was baiting her, and though she warned herself not to rise to it, to avoid the lure she couldn’t help saying, “Get over yourself, Nevada. I have.”

  “Like hell,” he muttered. As she tried to pass, he struck swiftly, strong arms surrounding her. Before she could think twice, she was dragged against the hard, flat wall of his chest. He stared down his broken-more-than-once nose with eyes that burned silver-gray in the moonlight. “You, lady, are the worst liar I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something, cuz I’ve known some pretty damned good ones.”

  “I’ll bet.” She angled her chin up, refusing to back down, but couldn’t ignore the heat he generated, the splay of strong, calloused fingers against the small of her back. “So what’re you gonna do about it, Smith?” she taunted.

  That irreverent slash of white was back. “You want to find out?”

  No! “Maybe.” Dear Lord, why was she toying with him? She could barely breathe being this close to him, had trouble concentrating on anything but the thin twist of his lips.

  One thick eyebrow arched. “Watch.”

  With excruciating deliberation, he trailed a work-roughened finger down the slope of her neck.

  Oh, God, she was melting inside. Heat seeped into her bloodstream, yet she shivered and her heart began knocking in frantic anticipation.

  His hand settled over her shoulder, fingers on her back, thumb placed at the hollow of her throat. If he wanted to, he could crush her windpipe and snap her neck. But she trusted him with her life and, stupidly, with her heart.

  He pressed warm lips to the crook of her neck and she moaned.

  Stop this, Shelby. He’s seducing you and you’re falling for it! Stop it now, while you still can.

  Lifting his head, he stared at her. His thumb slowly traced the ring of bones at the base of her throat, rotating in sensuous circles.

  I want you.

  Had he said it?

  Had she?

  Embers of a long-forbidden fire smoldered. She knew it was madness, being alone with him, touching him. letting the smell of him invade her senses, and yet she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t think beyond this moment.

  Backing her against the wall, he lowered his head. Though she knew kissing him was about the craziest thing she could do, she couldn’t resist. His lips touched hers and she quivered. His bare arms, corded and strong, held her fast and her knees threatened to give way altogether. Just as his mouth settled over hers, he whispered, “You are the most aggravating, mule-headed and sexy woman I’ve ever met.”

  “And ... and you’re my worst nightmare.”

  “I know
.”

  Oh, Lord, she could barely think. let alone talk. Embers sparked. Desire pounded through her brain and it was all she could do not to grab him and never let go.

  He kissed her then. Hard. With his whole body. As if he never intended to stop. His mouth clamped over hers and his body was pressed tight to the contours of hers. Wild, wanton thoughts tore through her brain. Hot as an East Texas wind and twice as willful, a yearning like no other raged deep in her soul. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t resist. She gasped, and through her open mouth his eager tongue pushed past her teeth. Her eyes fluttered shut. Memories of a younger time played through her mind. Oh, God, how she’d loved him then; how she wanted him still.

  His tongue teased and flicked against hers, scraping the roof of her mouth as his lips caressed hers. He was everywhere, his hands holding her fast, his breathing as ragged as her own.

  Don’t do this, Shelby. This is treacherous.

  She remembered making love to him in a spring storm, his honed wet body mounting hers, his bare hips thrusting forcefully as he entered her, the smell and feel and taste of him surrounding her then as they did now.

  He lifted his head and she clung to him.

  “Miss me?” he taunted, twining his calloused fingers through her hair and tugging so that she was forced to open her eyes and stare up at him.

  “Not—not a second.”

  He laughed grufny. “As bad a liar as you are, Shelby Cole, you sure don’t know when to quit.”

  “What?” she asked, gasping. “And ruin all this fun?”

  “You’re pushing me, darlin’, and that could be dangerous.”

  “Could it?” She laughed. “I don’t see how.”

  “As I said before, watch.” He kissed her again and this time his deliberation was replaced with fervor. Hard, demanding lips met hers, and his fingers found the buttons running down the front of her dress. One by one they were released from their bonds and the bodice opened, exposing breasts held tight by a filmy bra. Her nipples tensed under his touch, hard little buttons pressing against black lace.

  Inside she turned to hot tallow and her bones became water.