Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

by Joanna Wayne

  “Exactly,” Travis agreed. “And we both know what he’s willing to do to make sure no one involves him in his own dirty work. I figure he’s already been in touch with Cornell and is calling all the shots.”

  “Like a possible execution, gangster-style. Do you need me in Laredo?”

  “Not at the present. I’d rather have you on top of things in Dallas. Finding Cornell is getting more critical by the second.”

  “Right. Give me a call once you talk to Patterson.”

  “Will do. Later.”

  Travis pocketed his phone, got out of the car and went inside. He glanced at Faith and then sidled into a chair opposite John.

  John pushed an empty plate away. “Fast trip.”

  “Friend with a plane.”

  “Ah. Moving up in the world. I heard you were in for a big inheritance.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Word gets around. Money and part interest in a ranch was the way I heard it.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  The waitress came over and refilled John’s cup. “What can I get you?”

  “Hamburger’s good,” John said. “Onion rings are even better.” He wiped his mouth on a paper napkin.

  “I’ve eaten,” Travis said. “Just coffee for me.”

  John waited until the waitress was out of earshot. “Exactly what is your connection to Cornell Ashburn?”

  “His mother is best friends with my new sister-in-law.” That was a fact, though it barely scratched the surface of the truth.

  “This news is not going to make her happy.”

  “No doubt about that, but she’s so desperate to find him that an arrest might be a relief.”

  “I can understand that. I’ve got a sixteen-year-old son myself. A good kid but a bit of a rebel. I worry about him all the time.”

  “I’d worry he wasn’t your son if he didn’t have a bit of a rebel in him.”

  John grinned and then went right back to business.

  “The warrant for Cornell’s arrest has been issued and the case is officially open, so I can fully level with you now.”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “Cornell has been towing a horse trailer across the border every few weeks for months. He picks up two to three horses and brings them into America.”

  “Are the horses stolen?”

  “No. He’s been stopped more than once in the past. Paperwork is always in order. They are legitimate sales and animals have passed inspection. But you know how it is. We’re always suspicious that a young man crossing the border at frequent intervals may be into drug smuggling.”

  “You must have found proof that he was.”

  “No. Even the dogs never found a trace of drugs in that horse trailer or the pickup truck he was driving.”

  “Until today?”

  John shook his head and waited as the waitress set a white mug of steaming coffee in front of Travis.

  She leaned over, revealing a seductive glimpse of cleavage. “We have some great apple pie. Sure you don’t want a piece to go with that java?”

  Travis waved her off. “Not tonight, thanks.... So why the warrant?” he asked when the waitress had left.

  “We were anonymously tipped off today that there was a hidden compartment built into the floor of the horse trailer. I ordered in some extra agents to check out the tip.”

  “If not drugs, what did you find?”

  “Solid-gold religious icons and other statues and jeweled relics believed stolen from a church in Peru over the last few years. The stolen goods were estimated to be worth billions.”

  “Son of a bitch. Georgio Trosclair has apparently branched out into new, even more lucrative endeavors.”

  John’s eyebrows arched. “I never mentioned Georgio.”

  “Then I should tell you the rest of the story. But first, if you found stolen relics in the horse trailer, why didn’t you take Cornell into custody then?”

  “A question I’ve asked everybody at the scene. He slipped away even before they found the contraband. It was as if he knew they’d been tipped off that it was there.”

  “Maybe he was the one who supplied the tip.”

  “I considered that,” John said.

  Travis filled him in on the details of Cornell’s disappearance, his connection with Angela Pointer and Georgio’s recent attempt to reach out to Faith, culminating with her house being bugged.

  “That explains a lot,” John said. “I figured there was no way Cornell Ashburn had masterminded and carried this out on his own. I wish I had known that sooner, but we didn’t even know Cornell’s real name until we realized the ID he carried today was fake. It still might have taken days to identify him if you hadn’t sent that picture to me personally.”

  And by that time, Georgio would likely have found Cornell first. He still might. The gory reality of that pushed a new wave of adrenaline through Travis’s veins.

  “We need every available resource dedicated to finding Cornell,” he urged. “Rangers, state police, border patrol and local cops. You know what it means if Georgio gets to him first.”

  “I’m on it the second we leave here,” John said. “And I need to talk to Cornell’s mother. What’s the best way to reach her?”

  “Through me.” Travis turned, caught Faith’s eye and motioned her over.

  “Just a friend of your sister-in-law,” John said, clearly not believing him. “You failed to mention she was a knockout.”

  “Is she? I never noticed.”

  “Right.”

  The kidding around stopped the second Travis introduced Faith to John. The situation was dead serious.

  * * *

  AN HOUR AFTER meeting Travis’s friend, Faith was practically numb, still fighting off shock at the ludicrous accusations against Cornell. She dropped her handbag to the sofa, barely noticing the roomy suite in the recently renovated motel John Patterson had recommended.

  Patterson had spoken of a man. Cornell was just a kid, a teen beginning his senior year in high school when he’d disappeared. Listening to the accusations Patterson had spouted so coldly had been difficult. Believing them was impossible.

  Yet John Patterson believed them. She suspected Travis did, as well.

  “It’s been a long day,” Travis said.

  “Only a day. It seems weeks since I met Georgio for lunch.”

  “You should probably get some sleep. You take the bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

  “Or we could toss a coin for it,” she suggested.

  “No. The couch is fine with me. I never sleep much when I’m working on a case.”

  “Aren’t you always working on a case?”

  “Yep. Sleep is overrated.”

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t sleep tonight, either,” she said.

  Travis dropped to the sofa and propped his feet on the wooden coffee table. “Want to talk?”

  “I may not make sense. I’m bewildered, unable to relate to the person John Patterson says is my son.”

  “I can understand that. Talking about it might help.”

  “I don’t see how.” She sank to the sofa beside him. “I know it’s hard to understand if you don’t have a son of your own, but I know this is not what it seems. If Cornell was driving that horse trailer, he either didn’t know about the contraband or was somehow forced to do it.”

  “Tell me about the Cornell you know, Faith.”

  “You think I’m just a prejudiced mother, don’t you?”

  “I think you’re an amazing woman who loves her son very much. I had a mother like that—or so I’ve been told. I don’t remember much about her. You’ve probably heard that she died of cancer about the time I started school.”

&n
bsp; “She’d be proud of you,” Faith said. How could she not? He was tough, a man’s man. Yet he was also protective and gentle and...

  And she was falling hard for him. Crazy to feel this when her life was in chaos and her heart was breaking. But she’d love nothing more than to find refuge in the protective warmth of his strong arms.

  “I don’t know where to start talking about Cornell,” she said.

  “Start wherever you like.”

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, letting the thoughts of happier times creep into her consciousness. “I was seventeen and pregnant when I married Melvin Ashburn. He was two years older, out of high school and working for his dad in the construction business.”

  “Awful young to start a family. Of course, I’m almost thirty-nine and have never even gotten married. But that’s a topic for another time.”

  She wondered if that was his way of warning her not to get any romantic ideas where he was concerned. It was a warning her heart should heed.

  “We were young,” she agreed, “so I guess it wasn’t so surprising that once Cornell was born, Melvin felt trapped. He hung out with his friends, drinking and carousing.”

  “And you stayed home with Cornell?”

  “I did. He was my life. I marveled at each new thing he did. The first words. The first steps. And somehow the marriage survived far longer than the teenage hormone-induced lust we’d been sure was the real thing.”

  “How did Cornell react to the divorce?”

  “He took it hard, the way any kid does when his father walks out. He felt as if his dad had abandoned him instead of me.”

  “What kind of father was Melvin after the divorce?”

  “The kind who was seldom around, the same as before the divorce. But he did breeze in on occasion and take Cornell on exciting trips. And he was there with me when Cornell almost died from his mysterious illness.”

  Travis pulled his feet from the coffee table and turned to face her. “A divorce, an illness that almost killed him, a seizure disorder and the death of his father. Cornell had a tough few years, more than most grown men could have handled without it breaking them.”

  The comment hit a nerve. She was opening her heart to Travis and he was using her words to find reasons for her son to become a criminal.

  “We’ve talked enough,” she said, her voice shaky. She walked to the kitchen area, found a glass and filled it with ice and water.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Faith.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Travis. Nothing you say can change my mind about Cornell. He’s a good kid. None of the hardships he went through changed that.”

  Tears came to her eyes and this time she didn’t try to fight them back. She propped her elbows on the counter, buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  She heard Travis’s footfalls and then felt his arms close around her. He held her tight until the sobs that racked her body grew still.

  Then he tugged her around to face him. His thumb fitted under her chin and he nudged it up until she was staring into the depths of his dark eyes.

  “I believe you, Faith. I don’t see how anyone could have a mother like you and not be a loving, decent human. Now you have to believe me. I’ll do everything in my power to help you find your son and clear his name.”

  “He’s my world.”

  “I know.”

  In the same breath, Travis’s lips found hers. She dissolved in the kiss, letting his heat and sweet reassurance wash over her and steal her breath away.

  She didn’t understand how passion could come in the midst of heartbreaking turmoil. All she knew was that it felt right to be in Travis’s arms.

  Finally, he pushed away. “I think we better stop,” he said. “Unless...”

  Unless she didn’t want to. She didn’t. She ached to fit herself in his arms and have him carry her to the bed. But would they both be sorry in the morning?

  “I want you,” she whispered. “But not tonight. Not until Cornell is safe and we have nothing between us but each other.”

  * * *

  THE PAIN IN Cornell’s side was growing worse. He’d pulled a muscle jumping across a fence and landing on a small ranch a few miles north of Laredo.

  It was dark now, and there was light coming from just one room in the family home. Upstairs, a bedroom, he suspected. As long as he didn’t do anything to upset the four horses in their stalls, he should be safe until morning.

  Hunger pangs growled in his stomach. He’d drunk from the hose at the back of the barn, but he hadn’t eaten since morning. He should have planned more thoroughly, but the idea had crystalized all at once. A plan to keep the artifacts out of Georgio’s hands without openly double-crossing him.

  Cornell had figured he could get away while they searched the horse trailer. He’d thought of it before, wondered if he’d have the nerve to make a run for it if he was caught in the act of smuggling. He’d seen others do so. Only once had he seen a man shot for trying to escape.

  Cornell sat on a pile of hay and removed his boots—nice shoes, the kind a rancher’s son would wear. That was what Georgio had said when he’d given them to him, along with the clothes he was to wear when he crossed the border with a shipment.

  Just a few shipments. Not drugs. Not arms. Georgio had promised him that. Not that his promises meant much. He’d also promised that he’d set Cornell up with a job and a new identity on the West Coast.

  The alternative was a prison cell for the rest of his life or a cell on death row. At the time, it had seemed the only way out.

  But Cornell was tired of living a lie. Sick at not being able to see anyone he cared about. Starting to hate himself for not standing up like a man and taking the punishment he deserved.

  He was ready to turn himself in. The hardest part would be seeing the pain and heartbreak on his mother’s face when he admitted the truth.

  He had killed an unarmed man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Travis spent another restless night, this one on a couch so short that his feet hung over the end. He could have pulled it out into a bed, but comfort was the least of his concerns.

  A far bigger one was the fact that he could hear the sound of Faith’s gentle breathing and imagine her lying between the sheets, her hair spread across the pillow, her soft breasts free.

  The kiss had been his undoing. Any arguments he’d had for why he shouldn’t fall for her were moot points now. He’d fallen and fallen hard.

  He’d been with lots of other women. None had ever affected him the way Faith did. He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t understand it. Had no reference point for how love should make a man feel.

  All he knew was that he would be there for her no matter what happened next, no matter what crime her son had or hadn’t committed. Travis couldn’t fathom not wanting to be with her every day for the rest of his life.

  But if something happened to Cornell, would she ever be able to love anyone again?

  When the first glow of dawn finally peeked around the edges of the drapes, he kicked off the sheet and padded to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He drank it in the morning quiet as he considered his next move.

  Every law-enforcement agency in the state was looking for Cornell, especially now that they knew Georgio Trosclair might be the mastermind behind the smuggling. Georgio’s sins were legend. He’d been getting away with drug trafficking and murder for years. There wasn’t a cop worth the badge he wore who didn’t want to have a hand in getting Georgio off the street and behind bars.

  The bedroom door creaked just as Travis was about to start a fresh pot of coffee. He looked up. Faith stood in the doorway, her long brown hair rumpled from sleep, her face makeup-free, her eyes wide and haunted.

  Desire hit so hard and fast he grew dizzy. But this
was no time for weakness. He managed to pull it together.

  “Good morning.”

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Almost seven.”

  “I’m sorry. I never dreamed I’d sleep so late, but I was awake until after two.”

  “Then you needed the rest.”

  He flipped the switch on the coffeemaker. His cell phone rang. He grabbed it from the lamp table near the sofa and checked the caller ID. Reno.

  “It’s my partner,” Travis said. He hated to talk in front of Faith in case it was bad news. “I’ll be right outside.”

  He answered the phone as he closed the door behind him. “What’s up?”

  “Price of gas and a trace on the number that Angela Pointer used to call Faith.”

  “Good work. What’s the location of origin?”

  “About twenty miles north of Laredo. Phone is registered to Dolores Guiterrez.”

  “Any info on her?”

  “She’s married, has five kids, works as a cook at the Jackrabbit Chase Ranch.”

  “So I can probably find her there?”

  “If not, I have an address for her, but here’s the interesting part. Several calls were also made yesterday not from Dolores’s cell phone but from Jackrabbit Chase Ranch to Georgio’s encrypted cell phone, the first within a half hour after the contraband was confiscated.”

  “Suggesting the rancher might be the fence who was waiting for delivery.”

  “That’s my take on it,” Reno agreed. “So it’s anyone’s guess how Angela Pointer fits into this.”

  “Do we have a name for the rancher?”

  “Alex Salinger, age sixty-three, well known in the community as an upright man—at least that’s what I deducted from what I could find on him. He’s connected to Georgio, so I’m sure there’s more to the story.”

  “No doubt.”

  “All of this is out of our jurisdiction,” Reno said, “so don’t even think about going to the ranch.”

  “Is that your official position?”

  “Yep. That said, give me a few hours and I’ll be in Laredo to go there with you. We can’t question Alex about the smuggling, but we can damn sure pretend to be looking for an old friend named Angela Pointer.”